


Whumptober 2020

by devilishdiadem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A LOT OF WHUMP, Dean taking care of Sam, Gen, Hell Flashbacks, Hell nightmares, Nightmares, Only 26 of 31 completeed, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Soulmates, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Protective Siblings, Quote: Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically irrationally erotically codependent on each other, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, a lot of it, no beta we die like men, reposting from FFnet, sam taking care of dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29284425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilishdiadem/pseuds/devilishdiadem
Summary: 26 of the 31 Whump prompts from Whumptober 2020. No beta, we die like men. I didn't update or revamp any of these since I originally wrote them because that's part of what makes Whumptober special. You write them on the day and post them. So yeah, no beta, no reread, we die like men
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester
Kudos: 26





	1. Let's Hang Out Sometime

**Author's Note:**

> Day #1
> 
> Prompt(s): Waking up restrained; shackled; hanging
> 
> Author’s Note: Set around 13x11 Breakdown
> 
> References to 2x20 What Is and What Should Never Be and 13x05 Advanced Thanatology

“Sammy, you gotta fight this!” Dean begged his little brother.

They’d been hunting a djinn. It should’ve been an easy case; they knew what to expect with djinn nowadays. At least that’s what they had thought. But apparently this had been a different species or breed. It was stronger and faster, like no djinn the boys had ever seen before. Dean wondered if it could be some sort of Alpha-Djinn, but right now he didn’t care much about what it was, just how to stop it. But first, he just needed his brother to wake up.

“Sammy, c’mon man, just listen to my voice, you gotta come back to me,” Dean pleaded. His little brother way too pale, the green eyes were scrunched shut, and djinn hadn’t been kind to him while stringing him up. The patches of blood, some not dry, were obvious signs of that. Dean started slowly and carefully detaching the tubes and IV from his brother’s arms, all the while keeping up slow and steady encouragement.

Deep inside his consciousness, wrapped up inside a warped and other-worldly version of his life, Sam was living a life with Jess. They had a daughter named Mary who would soon be turning seven years old. Sam was a lawyer, and him and his family lived in New York. But no matter how much Sam wanted to live there, and believe it was real, he could feel that it was wrong.

He knew things couldn’t be as perfect as they seemed. So he looked up names and dates. The names of the people him and Dean had saved, names of people he loved, dates of when the Apocalypse had almost happened, or when the Apocalypse had almost happened again. The things he read were disturbing, upsetting… so much so that Sam was terrified to type in one last name. But finally, he did.

And Sam, even though he’d half expected it because of what he’d already read, still felt his heart start pounding, still felt the blood drain away from his face, when he managed to find an autopsy report… for Dean Winchester.

Dean was dead. He had died under mysterious circumstances almost ten years ago.

Sam felt like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he couldn’t think clearly. Dean was dead. And he wasn’t coming back. He _hadn’t_ come back.

Every time Sam had lost Dean, _every time_ , he’d always come back. When he’d died a hundred times over because of the Mystery Spot, Dean had come back. When he’d been stabbed through the chest by Metatron, Dean had come back, albeit as a demon, but still. And through all the close calls, all the near misses, Dean had always, _always_ , pulled through.

But seeing the report, reading the words, Sam was spiraling. He wanted to stay with Jess so bad. He wanted to be a father to Mary, even if he’d only known her for a few days.

But he needed his brother. He’d always had Dean. Dean had always been there for him and now he wasn’t. And all the people him and Dean had saved. So many other autopsy reports Sam had found, so many things he’d found news reports of that had confounded the world.

Sam knew what he had to do, but he wished he didn’t have to. Everything was so messed up in his life right now. Jack and his mom were in some alternate world in god knows how much danger. They had no direction to move in; it felt like him and Dean had just been moving in circles for far too long. They had nowhere to go, nothing to fight with, no knowledge of how to open the rift.

And Sam couldn’t help but feel guilty about how he’d been acting around Dean. He could see how depressed he had been, how deep of a ‘dark place’ he was in, and Dean had been trying so hard to get him out of it. Dean had been trying everything to lift Sam’s spirits, to keep his little brother upbeat, assuring him that somewhere, somehow, they would fix this… like they always did.

Maybe Dean would be better off if Sam wasn’t dragging him down.

But as that thought entered the younger Winchester’s head, he instantly knew what Dean would do if Sam didn’t come back. It wouldn’t be a pleasant sight.

Sam could clearly recall how despondent his brother had been when they’d lost Cas just a few months previously, and he could only imagine how much worse it would be if he lost Sam.

* * *

His Jessica, his Mary, they looked at him and begged him to stay. They pleaded with him to stay and to live a happy and normal life, free of the torments and pain that his other life brought.

And Sam wanted to stay… he did. Jessica was so beautiful, the woman he had loved more than any other in his whole life. And his daughter…. Maybe Sam had only been living in this life for a few days, but he felt like this little girl was the light of his life.

But Sam knew. Tears filled his eyes as he held the knife to his chest. Jess was screaming, little Mary was crying, but then it all went black.

* * *

“Sammy, please,” Dean begged again. He didn’t want to think about what his little brother was seeing, but he couldn’t help it. He started to wonder if Sam was happy, if he was safe. Dean wondered his Sam was with Mom and Dad, or with Jess, or with someone else. Dean wondered if Sam was with him or if it had been like his djinn experience, where he and Sam had never gotten close.

But then suddenly, he was pulled from his thoughts by a resounding gasp. Sam was struggling against the bonds holding him up, the green eyes Dean knew so well blearily struggling to open. The pale skin had just the slightest bit of color returning and Sam’s breathing was ragged.

“Woah, woah, hey, I got you. I got you, little brother,” Dean said. He hurriedly finished detaching the tubes and then getting Sam’s wrists free.

“D’n?” Sam muttered.

“Hey, you’re alright now. I’ve got you,” Dean said. He finally got Sam free, and his little brother crashed into him, his legs weak and unsupportive. Dean lowered himself and Sam to the floor of the desolate house the Djinn had been using as a feeding center.

Sam was breathing raggedly still and then a few moments passed, and the shuddering breaths were replaced with sobs. Dean just held his brother as he cried. He didn’t know what Sam had seen, but if it was anything like his experience, it would’ve been terrible leaving.

Sam must’ve cried for almost ten minutes, his arms wrapped around Dean and his head buried in his big brother’s chest. Sam hadn’t cried and held onto Dean like this in ages. Dean didn’t do anything except rest his chin on his brother’s head and mutter affirmative words.

Eventually, Sam’s sobs slowed and lessened, and he pulled away from Dean.

“‘m sorry,” he mumbled, wiping his face.

“It’s okay,” Dean said. “I remember what it was like, I get it.”

Sam nodded. “How long was I out?” he asked, not making eye contact with Dean.

“I found you about thirty minutes ago. Spent a few hours searching. How long did it feel like to you?”

“‘Bout a week,” Sam replied.

“Well, c’mon,” Dean said. “You ready to get back to the motel? Figure out how to kill this thing?”

Sam nodded as Dean helped him up shakily.

* * *

After killing the Djinn, Sam and Dean headed back to the Bunker. The hunt had been in Iowa, near Davenport, so it was about a seven hour drive back home. Nothing the boys hadn’t tackled before in a day. They set off in the morning, planning to be home by dinner.

Sam had been pretty quiet since he’d come out of the coma or whatever you wanted to call it. Dean understood though and didn’t press Sam. Dean hadn’t wanted to open up about his experience at first either.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam said quietly after about an hour in the car.

“Yeah?” Dean replied, glancing over to him.

“You know how when you got caught by the djinn, you said that it had granted your wish, which was for Mom to be alive?”

Dean nodded.

“Mine was… my wish was for Jess to be alive.” Sam took a deep breath. “But because Jess lived… I never got back into the life and…” he trailed off.

“And you and I never started hunting together again,” Dean finished for him quietly.

Sam nodded. “Jess and I had a kid,” he said quietly, trying to keep from choking up. “A little girl. It was almost her seventh birthday.”

Dean silently blew out a breath. “What was her name?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet and gentle.

“Mary,” Sam whispered. He rubbed his eyes and looked out the window. Dean pointedly kept his gaze ahead so he wouldn’t see the reflection of his brother’s face in the car window.

“Her name was Mary,” Sam continued. “And she had blonde hair and blue eyes, and she was so happy. And Jess… she was perfect.”

Dean couldn’t help but tear up slightly. He may have only met Jessica once, but he could see a mile away how much she’d meant to Sam. Even more so when Sam confided in him, albeit after some hunt when they’d been getting drunk, that he’d talked to Jessica’s parents, and had gotten her grandmother’s wedding ring to propose to her with.

Dean discreetly wiped his eyes, still keeping his gaze on the road ahead. “Why’d you come back?” he asked, still in that quiet and gentle tone.

“You,” Sam muttered. “You were dead. And so was everyone else we’d saved. Plus, we all know what you’d do without me to keep you in line,” he said, forcing a small chuckle.

Dean smiled tightly. “You know if you had stayed,” he began, “I wouldn’t have been mad at you. I would’ve understood.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I know that,” he said thickly. “But I also know what that would’ve done to you. And anyways, it wasn’t real, was it?”

Dean didn’t speak.

“I wanted to stay,” Sam continued. “For a few days anyways. But then I started noticing just how different things were in my life. I mean, yeah, I had — I had Jess, but… I didn’t have you or — or Cas or Jack.” Sam didn’t speak again for about ten minutes.

Dean didn’t say anything either. He knew there was more Sam wanted to say, so he was just giving him the time and space to figure out how to say it.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so — so…” Sam started, but Dean was already shaking his head.

“Don’t you apologize, okay? Don’t. I understand. I’ve had lots of times when you’ve had to help me up. Hell, just a few months ago I was killing myself without a second thought ‘cause it seemed like we’d lost everything. I was so lost in grief and anger that I couldn’t even see that I still had my little brother. But you helped me with that.”

“I didn’t bring Cas back,” Sam said pointedly. “That’s what really helped you.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Sammy,” Dean said with another shake of his head. “Sometimes I don’t think you remember how important you are to me.” Dean cleared his throat after a second and then forced a laugh. “Now, according to you I never said that,” he said with a smile. “Can’t have you thinking too much of yourself now.”

Sam smiled, even if it didn’t entirely reach his eyes. “Yeah, well… still. I’ll try to be better for you.”

“Just take your time, okay?” Dean said. “I’ll be here to get you through and take care of my pain-in-the-ass little brother.”

Sam smiled again, and this time it did reach his eyes. “You’re such a jerk,” he said with a light laugh.

“Yeah and you’re a bitch,” Dean replied easily.

After that they settled into a more comfortable silence. Dean knew that there would more turmoil to come over these next few days, especially regarding what Sam had seen. But for now, he’d take care of Sam and give him his time, and when he was ready, he’d listen. Just like always.


	2. In The Hands Of The Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #2
> 
> Prompt(s): ‘Pick Who Dies’; collars; kidnapped
> 
> Author’s Note: Set in season 12, between 12x06 Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox and 12x07 Rock Never Dies
> 
> References to other episodes of season 12

Everybody who met the Winchester brothers instantly saw Dean as the overprotective one. The big brother. He always seemed to stay unnecessarily close to Sam, always checking on him, glancing over to him if they were separated. But if people looked closer, they would see that Sam was just as protective of his big brother. He was more tense when they weren’t together, and he always checked Dean up and down when they would regroup, making sure his elder brother wasn’t hiding any injuries.

The fact was, they were both equally protective of each other; Sam was just better at concealing his worry or anxiousness behind a book or his computer.

There was nothing to conceal Sam’s frantic worry right now however. Not now that Dean had been kidnapped by a vampire nest he and Sam had been tracking. Him, Sam, and Mary.

After Asa Fox’s wake, Mary had thought she might tag along on a hunt or two if that was alright with Sam and Dean. Even though they didn’t really feel like having their mom hunt with them right now, they had appreciated the gesture and that Mary was trying, so they had said yes.

They’d found signs of a vampire nest not far from the border between of Idaho and Montana so they’d started tracking it.

When they’d found a straggler vamp out in the daylight, Dean opted to go after it and track it down, see if he could figure out where the nest was while Sam and Mary collected Dead Man’s Blood.

Sam had argued against Dean going alone, but Dean and Mary had just had a bit of an argument so he let his brother go on the basis of needing some alone time. As long as he promised he would be careful.

“Dude, I killed Hitler,” Dean said before shrugging on his jacket and grasping his machete a little tighter. He tossed Sam the keys to the Impala. “I can handle a little vampire.”

Sam just rolled his eyes and nodded. “Call if you need backup.”

Now Sam and Mary were filling darts with Dead Man’s Blood and waiting for Dean to either call or return to the motel with the location of the nest. But when nighttime rolled around, and they still hadn’t heard anything, Sam started to pace.

“I’m sure he’s alright, Sam,” Mary tried to say comfortingly.

“He would’ve called to check in by now if he was alright,” Sam said. “Or at least texted, he always does. He didn’t used to, but…”

“But what?” Mary prompted, curious.

“He didn’t used to but he does now,” Sam snapped. “After everything we’ve been through, we don’t take chances like this. We don’t usually let each other go do things like this alone anymore. I only did this time because… well…” Sam trailed off, looking pointedly at the floor.

Mary knew what he was implying. Because her and Dean had argued. Mary had thought it was an innocent question when she had asked.

* * *

_“What was your dad like after I… died?” she asked._

_Sam and Dean both stiffened in the front seats. Mary sat in the middle of the back so she could see both her sons._

_“He hunted,” Sam said. “Pretty much non-stop.”_

_“He was dead-set on catching Yellow Eyes,” Dean added. “Wouldn’t take more than a few days off for anything.”_

_“But you two did go to school right?” Mary asked._

_Dean nodded. “Yeah, most every town we stayed at, we’d be in school for a few days. Couple weeks if we were lucky. A lot of the time Dad would work cases all within a day or two’s drive of each other so Sam and I could stay in the same school for that time. Then we’d move on.”_

_“He raised you two well,” Mary said. But she could see how those words affected Sam and Dean. Dean’s jaw tightened and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. Sam’s jaw tightened as well and he turned to look out of the window._

_“What is it?” Mary asked after a second._

_Sam shook his head. “Nothing, Mom, don’t worry ‘bout it.”_

_Mary could tell in her son’s voice that he really didn’t want to say anything more on the matter. But she’d pressed on anyways._

_Eventually, after much insisting on Mary’s part and evading on Sam’s, Dean had hit the steering wheel with his hands. “Dad asked me to kill Sam, does that sound like a good father to you! Putting that on me? Asking me to put a bullet in my kid?”_

_That had shut Mary up. She didn’t miss how Dean had called Sam ‘his kid’. She looked to Sam for his reaction to that but there wasn’t one. Just another one of those shared looks. The rest of the drive to Idaho was pretty much silent except for Dean turning the radio up loud. Mary didn’t bother commenting how much she liked the songs that played._

* * *

“I can’t,” Sam said after a few more moments. “I can’t keep waiting around when something may have happened to him.” He collected up the weapons on the bed, and grabbed the Impala’s keys. “I’m going back to where we split up. You coming?”

Mary only hesitated a second before grabbing her jacket and machete from the bed and following Sam out the door.

* * *

Dean stirred slightly, then jolted as he realized that he was bound to a chair by the wrists and ankles. He also felt something uncomfortable and tight around his throat. He looked up and glanced around. He was sitting in the middle of an abandoned barn or farmhouse by the looks of it.

And about a dozen vamps were surrounding him. Some were sharpening knives, some were drinking, as well as a couple of them making out in a corner. Not awkward at all. Dean tried to keep his eyes off them.

“Oh, look, the little puppy’s awake,” one said, her voice high and lilted. She held a bottle of whiskey in one hand that was almost empty. She stood up, walked over to Dean, and tugged on the thing around his neck. “This isn’t too tight for the little puppy, is it?” she taunted again. She tugged on the collar again. It was sharp and rough, and there seemed to be metal coming at his neck from the inside of the collar and when she jerked it, he could feel the metal prods dig into his skin and make it bleed. He couldn’t help but wince, no matter how hard he tried to keep his face impassive.

“Oh, sorry about that, puppy,” she said, feigning a pitying look when she caught sight of his wince. “You want a drink?” She held the bottle up in front of his eyes. Dean just stared into her face, his own a mask of coldness and hatred.

“Hmm,” the vamp hummed. “Guess I’ll take that as a yes.” And with that, she turned the bottle upside down, upending the remaining alcohol onto Dean’s face. Dean blinked profusely and looked down, trying to keep it from dripping into his eyes. The intense burning a few seconds later told him that he’d failed at that.

“Marie, that’s enough,” another female vamp chided. She was dozing in and out of sleep a few feet away. “Leave it alone.”

Marie scowled at him, barring her fangs at him before dragging a long nail across his neck and wiping at the blood from the collar. She licked her finger with a venomous smile that didn’t reach her eyes, before turning away. Nobody talked to Dean for a good twenty minutes until the two vamps who had been kissing viciously in the corner split apart and the male one came over, tugging a shirt over his head.

Dean kept his eyes straight ahead, not really looking at anything. When the vamp reached him, he stretched out a hand and jerked Dean’s chin upwards, jerking the collar so that the metal jammed into the back of his neck. Dean tried so hard to not make a sound but a gasp escaped him and he felt tears pricking at his eyes.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the vamp asked, his voice menacing but soft.

“Lemme guess,” Dean mused. “Strip poker?” he suggested with a smirk.

The vampire backhanded him hard across the face, the long nails catching his skin and leaving deep gashes. Dean could feel the blood drip and he clenched his jaw. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw even tighter when the vampire leaned down and wiped his tongue across Dean’s cheek where the blood was dripping.

“You’re here,” the vampire began, “to be our lifeline. Feedings have been stale lately. It’ll be nice to have fresh _human_ blood every now and then. The scavenging, the settling for cattle, it all gets very tiresome, you know?”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Dean said. His voice was no longer smirking or taunting, but dark and cold. They wanted him to be like Alex had been for her pack before they’d saved her. Something to fall back on when the going got tough. And there was no way in hell he’d let that happen. But at this moment, Dean wasn’t positive how to get out of this scrape.

So he waited. He dealt with Marie’s taunting. Most of the others ignored him, although he did occasionally catch sight of some of them eyeing him hungrily. He got the idea that a lot of them would’ve been happy to feast on him right there and then but that they were under orders from the leader to wait.

His eyes still burned from the whiskey Marie had poured onto his face, and every which way he moved or turned his head shoved a different metal poker into his neck at some odd angel. He could feel the blood dripping down his neck and around his collarbone. Dean would be lying if he said that he wasn’t surprised at the fact that the vampires weren’t attacking him for the scent of his blood. But maybe they’d been holding off of meat so long, the scent didn’t affect them as bad anymore. Dean wasn’t sure. He was too preoccupied with the pain in his neck and the aching of his wrists and ankles at being bound for so long. He could feel pinpricks in his fingers, telling him that blood wasn’t reaching them. Same with his feet.

After a few hours, or at least that’s what it felt like to Dean, one of the male vampires who’d been sulking in the corner came over to him. Dean looked up at him. His face was still a mask. Impassive. Cold.

Dean wasn’t expecting the hard fist that slammed into his jaw a second later. As his head twisted from the impact, his neck was yet again attacked by the crude collar, and he felt blood fill his mouth from the split lip he now bore. He spat out the blood at the feet of the vamp.

“That the best you got?” he growled.

The vampire growled back. A half second later, Dean regretted ever saying that.

* * *

Sam and Mary had found the farmhouse. They’d counted eleven vamps, maybe more. Sam had enough Dead Man’s Blood to take them all down, but the problem was how to get it to them. Two hunters against at least eleven vamps was a big feat, but Sam had to get Dean back. Who knows what they’d done to him.

* * *

Dean was in a daze. The vamp hadn’t gone easy on him. And for all the orders against not feeding on Dean, the leader obviously didn’t feel the need to have Dean in premium condition. He didn’t say a word against the numerous punches thrown the elder Winchester’s way, or the way the cuts in his neck bled more and more with every twist and turn of his head.

The taunting didn’t help either. Ozzy, the vamp who’d been using Dean’s face as a punching bag, leered at him through crooked teeth and bloodshot eyes.

“No one’s gonna come for you,” he said.

“Oh really?” Dean spat back. “You think so?” Dean believed Sam was looking for him. He had to believe it.

“Wouldn’t they have found you by now?” Ozzy teased. “Maybe they’re just happy to be rid of you. Maybe you slowed them down, maybe you aren’t as good as you think you are.”

Dean spat out more blood. “Listen here, you arrogant dick,” he said. “You don’t know me. And you don’t know my brother. He’s gonna come in here, and he’s gonna slaughter you all.”

Dean’s words were rewarded with another punch. And another. And then another. Dean’s neck was burning with a searing intensity, every inch of his face felt like it was blistering, and he couldn’t feel his hands any longer. Ozzy had also landed some hits on Dean’s chest and stomach, so that now Dean felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. He was pretty sure a rib was cracked, but he wasn’t sure.

One last hit to his ribs, and Dean was seeing spots and falling into darkness.

* * *

Sam stood in the middle of the farmhouse. He held a blood-soaked machete in one hand and a severed vampire head in the other. He threw both aside when he refocused on his big brother. Tied up in a chair, beaten and bloody, his face swollen and blood dripping down past the collar of his shirt.

Sam skidded on his knees in front of Dean.

“Dean? Hey Dean, c’mon, wake up for me, buddy.”

Mary killed the last vampire a few feet behind him but he wasn’t really paying attention to her anymore. All he could think about was getting Dean out of here and how he should’ve gotten to him sooner.

“Dean, c’mon brother,” Sammy begged. “I’m gonna get you outta here, but you gotta wake up for me.”

“S’mmy,” the slurred mumble came. Sam breathed a sigh of relief at just hearing the voice.

“Dean, hey, I got you, I got you,” Sam quickly but carefully started untying the robes from around Dean’s wrists and ankles. Then he moved to the crude collar around his brother’s neck.

“S’mmy,” Dean mumbled. “Damn bloodsuckers got me, Sammy.”

“That’s alright, Dee, we took care of ‘em. You’re alright now.”

Without the ropes binding Dean to the chair, his body was limp and weak, and he fell forward. Sam pulled Dean out of the chair and onto the floor in front of him so that he could get the thing off Dean’s neck.

He cringed as he carefully pulled the collar away. Dean’s neck was red and bloody, and some of the metal prods on the inside of the collar had gotten buried in Dean’s skin. Sam winced as he heard his brother gasp in pain at the sensation of the metal leaving his skin.

“Fuck,” Dean mumbled. _“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”_

“Shh, shh, I gotcha,” Sam said, trying to sound soothing and not concerned. The metal hadn’t looked clean, and if Dean’s neck got infected… that wouldn’t be pretty. Sam pulled a relatively clean bandana out of his pocket and wrapped it around his brother’s neck to stem the bleeding.

After some groans and grunts on both brothers’ part, Sam was able to get Dean’s arm around his shoulders and help him through the dilapidated building and vampire bodies. It was a rough ride back to the motel with Mary driving and Sam in the backseat taking care of his brother who was slipping in and out of consciousness.

When they finally reached the motel, Dean had woken up enough to keep his feet under him, but that exhausted what little strength he had left and he fell into a fitful sleep as soon as Sam got him down on the bed.

Sam had Mary clean the weapons and other things that him and Dean always did after hunts. He could tell his mother was annoyed with him, that she wanted to help, but he needed her to understand that, despite being his and Dean’s mom, she wasn’t the one who’d taken care of them. Him and Dean had done that for each other.

Taking care of Dean was his job. It always had been. Mary had only been back in their lives a couple months, and while Sam was ecstatic that his mother was alive and well again, he wouldn’t let her take back the role that him and Dean had played for each other nearly their whole lives.

Sam cleaned and bandaged the holes in Dean’s neck and the gash on his face, put some ice over his eye and cheek to help the swelling and then checked for any broken or cracked ribs. It seemed that one was cracked, but Sam didn’t want to wrap it until his brother was awake and could tell him how tight was tight enough. The swelling on Dean’s face soon grew less, and it seemed that his brother’s breathing evened out slightly. But that didn’t stop Sam from staying awake and barely leaving Dean’s side for the next few hours. At some point, Sam forgot Mary was even there.

* * *

Dean stirred, instantly becoming away of the numbing cold on his face. He sat up, but regretted it instantly as he felt his ribs and bruised stomach protest.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright,” a voice at his side said softly.

“Sam,” Dean muttered. He forced his eyes open, but roughly closed them again when the lamp on the nightstand tried to blind him. Sam caught on quick though and clicked it off.

“That better?” his little brother asked.

Dean opened his eyes again and nodded. “Jesus,” he muttered. The ice pack that had been on his face had fallen to his knee and he scooped it up again and pressed it to his face.

“How you feelin’?” Sam asked.

Dean looked at him with one eye, the other swollen and covered by the ice pack. “ _Bloody_ fantastic,” he said. “Pun intended.”

“Idiot,” Sam said with a light laugh. “Listen, I found some pain pills in the Impala. They’re not as good as the stuff we got at home, but they should help at least some.” Sam dropped a couple tablets into his brother’s palm. Dean knocked them back and then took the glass of water Sam offered and swallowed them down. He groaned as the movement stretched his wrist and chest.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, lowering the ice pack and holding a hand up as Sam opened his mouth. “I shouldn’t have gone tracking that thing alone. I was just in a mood and I needed to clear my head.”

Sam nodded. “Well, next time you need to clear your head, why don’t you go drive around in your Baby, not get kidnapped and beaten up by some punk-ass vampires.”

Dean laughed with a wince. He wrapped an arm protectively around his side. “Deal,” he muttered.

Sam took a hand and pushed his brother back down on the mattress.

“So you took out a dozen vamps all by yourself, eh?” Dean said, letting go of his stubbornness and letting his brother take care of him. “Nice job, little bro.”

“Well, Mom ganked a few herself. She came on this hunt with us, remember?” Concern was etched into Sam’s tone as he wondered if Dean had a concussion. It certainly wouldn’t be a surprise. He’d have to do a concussion check in a bit when he brother was more awake and alert.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Dean muttered. He pressed the ice against his face again. “Thanks for getting me outta there, Sammy,” he said after a moment, closing his eyes.

“Always,” Sam replied easily, pulling some blankets off the other bed and onto his brother. “Rest up, okay? I want you to eat something and do a concussion test for me next time you wake up.”

“Okay, mom,” Dean replied, his voice tired but sarcastic.

Sam smiled. “Jerk.”

But Dean was already asleep again.

* * *

As Mary watched her sons from corner of the motel room, she found herself feeling like an outsider. Taking care of each other, no matter which was older or younger, it came so easily to them. And the teasing, the little jibes and comebacks they threw at each other, they never took offense because they could somehow understand the real meaning behind them. They weren’t insults or teasing remarks like they might be to other people. To Sam and Dean, they were signs of their bond, their love for one another. The thing that kept them together even when the universe wanted them to fight each other.

And when Dean called Sam ‘mom’, even though it was meant as a joke, Mary couldn’t help but feel her heart crack. Because it was true. She might be their mother, the one who’d brought them into this world, but she wasn’t the one who had taken care of them and raised them. And according to Sam and Dean, John hadn’t done much of that either. It had just been Sam and Dean for so long.

Mary watched them for a bit longer, but when Dean woke up next and Sam busied himself with testing his brother for a concussion, she excused herself. Sam only hummed in response when she said she was going out.

They’d taken care of each other for so long that it was second nature to them. It seemed so easy for Sam to fall into a rhythm of checking Dean’s pupils, or giving him antibiotics at regular intervals, or even just making sure he was feeling okay.

And from what she’d seen, it was even easier for Dean to fall into that rhythm. Always taking care of his little brother, making sure he was alright and safe. She’d never seen anything like the bond her two sons had. It wasn’t a normal brotherly relationship. But it was _their_ normal. And that was more than good enough for them.


	3. My Way Or The Highway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #3
> 
> Prompt(s): Manhandled; forced to their knees; held at gunpoint
> 
> Author’s Note: Alternate scene from 13x15 A Most Holy Man. I love this episode so much, and so I thought I’d write a shorter fic today, which will be an alternate scene of that episode. In the actual scene, when they’re in the motel room investigating the case, the guy comes up and pulls the gun on them, before ordering them to cuff themselves to the radiator. Sam and Dean do as they're asked, but continue pestering the man who continues to tell them to shut up. The guy has finally had enough and comes over, yelling at them and pressing the gun to Dean’s head. Now I’ve always liked this scene because of the way Sam’s face gets so hard and stony when the guy is pointing the gun at Dean. I feel like the only thing Sam is thinking at that moment is, “You point that thing at my brother again and I’ll rip your fucking face off.”
> 
> Anyways, that’s the scene I’ll be changing slightly so there you go.

Sam stared, his face hard and stony, at the man who held a gun on them. Two seconds ago the man had pressed the tip of it to Dean’s temple, making Sam’s blood run cold. Sam watched as the man walked towards the door.

“I’m gonna go call this in right now,” he said, gesturing at them with the gun. “Don’t you two go anywhere,” he added before laughing cockily. He turned to leave the room, his hand on the doorknob.

“You know what?” he said, retreating back towards them. “Just to make sure you two don’t try and follow me somehow.” He aimed the gun at Dean’s leg. Sam sputtered and reached out, trying to stop the man somehow, but before he could do anything, a muffled _bang!_ rang throughout the motel room. There was a silencer on the gun, which was good Sam supposed in hindsight. It meant people wouldn’t be rushing in to figure out where the noise had come from. Questions would’ve been asked, ambulances would have been called, and Sam and Dean’s cover would have been in jeopardy.

Dean cried out in pain as the bullet entered his leg.

Sam grit his teeth in rage and managed to kick the man’s knee, forcing him to crumple. His grip on the gun slackened and Sam noticed. Taking his chance, he snatched the gun away and slammed it across the man’s face, knocking him out.

Sam didn’t even watch him fall. Instead, he turned all of his attention to his older brother who was gripping at his leg with his free hand and biting his lip in pain. His skin was pale and clammy already after just a couple of seconds.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright, just try to relax,” Sam said, although his own voice was very unsettled. He took a lock pick out of his pocket and quickly unlocked his handcuffs and then Dean’s. Then he focused on the wound. It was bleeding quite a lot, but as far as Sam could tell, it was only a flesh wound. No muscles or arteries had been hit.

Dean leaned up against the radiator.

“How bad is it?” he said through gritted teeth. Sam ripped away the fabric and bunched it up into a makeshift bandage.

“Just a flesh wound, I think,” Sam said. “You’ve had worse.”

Dean nodded before trying to push himself up.

“Woah, woah, woah! Dean, what’re you doing?” Sam put his hands on Dean’s shoulders, pushing him back to the floor.

“We gotta keep working this thing,” Dean said. “This may be our one shot at actually getting this holy blood or whatever, so we need to keep after it.”

“Dean.” Sam put some force into his voice. His brother looked at him, mildly surprised. Sam didn’t use that tone often.

He softened it slightly and continued. “I agree, okay? I do, but you got to let me clean up your leg first.”

Dean grit his teeth and closed his eyes as another wave of pain washed over him. “Fine.”

Sam nodded. He looked around the room for some clean bandage material and eventually just settled for cutting one of the bedsheets into strips and wrapping it around his brother’s leg, but not before cleaning away the blood. He’d get Dean some pain pills when they got back to the Impala and the first aid kit they had in there.

“Okay,” Sam said finally. “You think you can stand? I’ll stitch you up when we’re back at the car.”

Dean nodded and let his brother help him off the floor. He grimaced as he tried to put some weight on his leg. Sam saw and, knowing his brother hardly ever admitted to needing help, wordlessly took one of Dean’s arms and put it around his shoulders.

Sam had handcuffed the guy with both pairs of handcuffs, then used a strip of bedsheet as a makeshift gag. He wouldn’t be getting out of that anytime soon.

Sam helped Dean out of the room. Luckily, the hotel seemed mostly empty now so they were able to make it outside with nobody paying them much mind.

Dean tried to keep up the brave face, but Sam could see just how much his leg was hurting him. His brother’s face was even paler and was sticky with sweat.

When they finally turned the corner of the alley where they had parked the Impala, Sam felt his blood run cold yet again. Men, three of them, stood in the alley. There were no guns visible but Sam guessed they would be at a moment’s notice.

“Mr. Scarpatti wants to see you two,” the man who seemed to be the leader said.

Dean swallowed and straightened beside him. “I think we’ll pass,” he said with a cocky smile, and even now Sam was impressed at how impassive and strong Dean could make his voice sound despite having just been shot.

“Yeah, it wasn’t a request,” the guy said. The man closest to them pulled out his weapon and aimed it at them.

“Woah, woah, woah, okay, okay. Okay,” Sam said. “Look, we’ll go with you, okay? We will. Just let me take care of my brother first.”

The man stared at them, taking in Dean’s condition and the blood soaking the bandages on his leg. He gave a curt nod, before waving at his man to stand down. Sam gave a small of acknowledgment in turn before helping Dean to halfway sit in the backseat of the Impala.

He pulled the first aid kit out from under the backseat and tried to ignore the three figures lurking behind him as he removed the bloody bandages and stitched up Dean’s injury. Dean tried to keep up the strong facade, but he couldn’t help but grip Sam’s arm tightly when the pain rolled over him, and he couldn’t hide how he was leaning into the Impala more with every second.

Eventually, Sam managed to get bandages wrapped around Dean’s leg again and had helped Dean further into the car.

“I’ll drive,” the leader said to Sam when he straightened up.

“I don’t think so,” Dean’s voice said firmly from inside the car, albeit slightly slurred.

“Again, not a request.”

Sam grit his teeth before leaning into the backseat of the car and pulling the Impala’s keys from Dean’s pocket.

“Nice car,” the guy said, side-eyeing the Impala.

“Yeah,” Sam said. His tone was cold. Angry. “Enjoy.” He dropped the keys into the man’s outstretched palm before climbing into the backseat next to Dean.

* * *


	4. Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #4
> 
> Prompt(s): (alternate prompt today) Stitches
> 
> Author’s Note: This entry features Jack :) I was wanting to try something a bit different and I had no ideas for Day 4’s prompts so I thought I’d choose a simpler prompt from the alt list and go with something a little different. Hope ya’ll still like.

Jack winced as Dean threaded the needle through the back of his shoulder. It shouldn’t have hurt, but ever since he’d killed Michael, Dean, Sam, and Cas had all implored him to use as little of his powers as he could. Even if it meant healing. Obviously bigger wounds, they would allow him to use his power, but for smaller things, Jack had started learning to control his healing ability, so that it wouldn’t heal instantly and would allow Dean or Sam to stitch it up.

Jack was still getting used to it. He knew that they were just looking out for him, knew that his family were just trying to take care of him, but it still annoyed him. But he put up with it for them, and also because Sam’s story of when he had been soulless hadn’t been pleasant. Jack didn’t feel very keen on something like that happening to him. He had had nightmares the next few nights of what he might do if he was soulless. Who he might hurt. Who he might _kill_.

He didn’t tell anybody of course.

Jack winced again as Dean cleaned the cut one last time before taping a piece of gauze over it.

“There you go,” Dean said, hitting Jack lightly on the uninjured shoulder. “You’re alright now. Was that the only place the wolf got you?”

Jack nodded mutely.

“Hey,” Dean said. He put a hand under Jack’s chin and lifted his face up so that their eyes met. “You okay?”

Jack nodded again.

“Bullshit,” Dean said simply. “I know that face. Sam taught you that, didn’t he? The ‘I want to talk but don’t know how’ face?”

Jack’s lip twitched as he pulled his shirt back over his shoulder, flinching slightly as it pulled the stitches. “No, I’m okay, I just…”

Dean waited.

“I feel so unsure of what to do.”

“What do you mean?” Dean took a seat on the infirmary bed next to him.

Jack sighed. “If I’m here, eventually I’m going to use my powers. Whether it’s because I’m hurt or you’re hurt or I’m killing a monster, I will use them. Sometimes it’s just instinct and I can’t stop myself. But if I use them, then I burn off my soul, and I’m scared of what’ll happen to me then. But if I don’t use them, if I left and went somewhere where I didn’t have to use them, I’d be leaving you and Sam and Cas. And I don’t want to leave you guys. What if you needed me and I wasn’t there, or what if something happens that I could’ve stopped or —“

“Woah, woah, okay.” Dean held up a hand. “Just take it easy. We’ll figure it out, okay? You’re not going anywhere.”

Jack looked over at him. “But maybe if —“

“No, no ‘buts’,” Dean said. “Look, we trust you, okay? We all trust you to do what you believe is right.”

Jack opened his mouth but closed it again as Dean continued knowingly. “But if something happens, and something happens to your soul, then we’ll figure that out too. You’re family, kid. We’ll take each hit as it comes. And listen, we’ve all had times where we’ve been scared, or where we’ve thought it might be better if we left, but we stay. Because it’s more important for us to stay and take the hits together, then it is to try and fight them alone. It took me a long time to realize that, sometimes I still forget about it. Just a few weeks ago with Michael…” Dean trailed off.

Jack nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Dean cleared his throat and stood up. “You alright?” he asked.

Jack stood up to. “Yeah,” he said, a small smile on his face.

Dean nodded with a returned smile and turned to leave.

“Hey, Dean?” Jack said.

Dean turned. “Hmm?”

“Thanks,” he said shyly.

Dean gave him a small wink. “Don’t mention it.”

* * *


	5. Where Do You Think You're Going?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #5
> 
> Prompt(s): Failed escape
> 
> AU of 12x22. Not a happy ending fic. Instead of resetting the lockdown, the Bunker remains closed to everyone and everything that could possibly help the boys escape. The only thing that comes of the explosion is Dean’s busted leg.

Sam gasped for breath on the floor of the map room. He managed to swallow a few times and inhale the quickly thinning air.

“Hey, lunatic,” a voice croaked from above him.

Sam looked around.

Dean was limping down the metal staircase, grimacing in pain.

Sam’s eyes traveled over his brother’s body, looking for signs of injuries. He looked mostly fine, just some dust and bruises, until Sam’s eyes rested on the torn and bloody mop of Dean’s knee. Sam struggled to stand, forcing himself upright and over to Dean. He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders and helped him over to a chair. They were both panting when they crashed down into the seats.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered, hands blindly clutching at his leg.

“So it didn’t work, huh?” Sam murmured.

Dean shook his head. He looked up at Sam, his eyes shiny. “That was our last shot,” he whispered.

Sam grit his teeth, hitting the table in anger. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said. “It was supposed to be you and me, going down swingin’, like Butch and Sundance, just like you said. Just like you _always_ said. There’s no chance in hell that this is how it ends.”

“Sam, please,” Dean said. His voice was coated in pain. Sam rubbed his hands over his face before returning his gaze to his elder brother.

He was out of breath, Sam noticed. And as a matter of fact, so was he. He should’ve been able to catch his breath by now. But the explosion… Sam realized. The explosion, the fire, it would have sucked too much air from what small amount was left.

Sam groaned. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” he muttered.

Dean cleared his throat. “Where’s British Biscuit?”

Sam looked up before rolling his eyes. “I left her after the explosion to look for you.” It was hard to read Dean’s expression with the Bunker having gone black and red again from lockdown mode. All Sam could really see were the lines etched in his brother’s face from pain. Sam rubbed his hands through his hair. “Okay, okay, I’ll take care of this,” he said. He stood up. “I’m gonna go get the first aid kit, patch your leg up.”

“Get me a drink while you’re at it,” Dean called as Sam left.

As he walked, Sam started paying even closer attention to how much air he was taking in. He needed to conserve as much oxygen as possible if they had any remaining chance of getting out of here.

He fetched the first aid kid and a glass of whiskey for Dean, but not before taking a drink of it himself. He made his way back to the table where Dean sat. His blood ran cold when he saw Dean’s head lolling to his side.

“Dean! Dean!” Sam dropped the whiskey and aid kit onto the table, moving his hands to frame his brother’s face. “Dean, wake up for me, c’mon,” he begged. He slapped his brother’s face a few times. Not too hard, but hopefully hard enough to snap him back into consciousness. It worked.

Dean’s eyes fluttered open a moment later.

“Dammit, don’t do that to me again, Dean,” Sam said. “Jesus, I thought you might’ve…” he trailed off.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean said, rubbing his face. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m just… tired.” Dean tried to fight back a yawn but failed.

“No, no, we are not doing that,” Sam said. “Here,” he handed Dean the drink. “I’m gonna bandage you up and then we’re gonna go get Bevell and figure out a new way to get out of here.”

It took Sam about twenty minutes to bandage Dean’s leg. He’d thought that he’d have to stitch it, but in all honesty, there wasn’t much to stitch together. Thank god it was just a flesh wound; Sam wrapped it up tightly, wincing when he heard his brother grunt or hit his hand on the table because of the pain.

“Okay, stay here, I’m gonna go grab Bevell,” Sam said.

“Not going anywhere,” Dean mumbled.

“Hey, and stay awake!” Sam called behind him. He tried not to breathe too heavily but it was so fucking hard, what with the anxiety and stress all building up within him.

“Hey,” he called around. He had reached the hall where him and Bevell had taken cover from the explosion. “Hey, we —“ Sam stopped. As he’d passed he doorway of the room where the explosion had taken place, a figure lying on the floor inside caught his eye. He hesitantly walked down the few steps towards Bevell. She was lying, facedown, on the cold stone floor.

He hesitantly grabbed one of her shoulders and rolled her over. Her face was pale; it looked haunting in the red lockdown light of the Bunker. Her clothes were coated with blood, and Sam soon saw the cause. A deep cut across her lower neck.

Sam frowned. He didn’t find himself feeling very sorry, but she _had_ said she was the only one who could possibly hope to fix their mom. Sam ran his hands through his hair, before standing up and going back into the library where Dean was trying to limp to the kitchen.

“Woah, woah, Dean, what’re you doing?”

“Wanted more whiskey,” his brother mumbled.

“Well, I’ll get it for you,” Sam said. “You sit back down.”

“Where’s Biscuit?” Dean asked, allowing Sam to take the glass from his hand and help him back to a chair. Blood loss and lack of access oxygen were making Dean tired, Sam realized. He figure it was doing the same to him, maybe just slower since he wasn’t hurt.

“She — uh — she’s dead.”

“What?” Dean said. “The explosion get her?”

Sam shook his head as Dean sat back down. “No. She — uh — she killed herself. Guess she didn’t feel like dealing with us anymore,” he said, trying to force a bit of levity into his tone. He wasn’t sure if it was apparent though.

Dean nodded. “Well, can’t say I’m disappointed,” he mumbled. “More oxygen for us, huh?”

“True,” Sam said. “Stay here, I’ll get you another drink.”

Sam ended up just bringing in a whole tray of their best alcohol and an additional glass for himself. They had already gone through every damn book they had, and thanks to Ketch, no spells or witchcraft would work. Like Dean said, they’d tried brawn by trying to break through fucking concrete. That didn’t get them very far.

And even using Dean’s precious flamethrower hadn’t gotten them anywhere. Unless you count a brother with a busted leg and even less oxygen getting somewhere.

Sam moved the alcohol to Dean’s room, then he helped Dean get there too. Neither wanted to voice it aloud, but they both knew that the flamethrower had been their last shot. And anything else they tried would only suck up more oxygen that they didn’t have. They did try one last summoning spell for Crowley, but it fizzled out before the flames even burned red. They both continued praying to Cas for a little while longer too, but the spells and warding on the Bunker all seemed to have been turned inwards. It was as if there was a stone wall that was stopping the prayers from getting across. Sam supposed that was an ironic metaphor considering that it was their own cement,

warded home that they would die in.

* * *

Sam and Dean sat side-by-side on Dean’s memory foam mattress. They were both drunk off their asses, too drunk to care. But of course they still did.

“‘m sorry, Dee,” Sam slurred. He passed their final bottle of beer back to Dean.

Dean humphed. “’S not your fault,” his brother slurred back. “’S just so fucking messed up,” he mumbled. “Not dying with a gun in our hands, or saving someone. We’re not hunting monsters, not even being shot by other hunters. No, we’re being suffocated to death in our own fucking home,” Dean said, his voice strong as he spoke, but then falling back to a muffled sob. He hiccuped.

“Could be worse,” Sam said softly.

“How could this be worse, S’mmy?” Dean said, looking over at him. The room was dark, but Sam could still see a slight glint of Dean’s green eyes.

“At least we’re together,” he replied.

Dean hiccuped again, taking a sip of beer. “You’re right, Sammy. Sorry.”

Sam shook his head as he took the bottle back. “Don’t be. ’S okay.”

“’S not,” Dean mumbled.

Sam sighed this time. “You’re right, it’s not,” he said. Sam didn’t bother trying to swallow down his tears. He was pretty sure Dean was too drunk and depressed himself to call him out for it.

“For the record though,” he continued. “You’re still a jerk.”

Dean laughed sadly. Sam felt one of his brother’s arms wrap around him and pull him closer.

“Yeah, and you’re still a pain in my ass, little brother,” Dean muttered. “Bitch.”

Silence passed for a few minutes. The brothers’ breathing was slow and shallow, getting slower and shallower with every second that passed.

The red light continued to flash, as Sam’s vision began to grow fuzzy. “G’night, Dee,” he muttered. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his big brother’s shoulder.

A moment later, he felt Dean’s head rest on his own.

“Night, Sammy.”

* * *


	6. Please...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #6;
> 
> Prompt(s): “No more”; “Stop, please.”
> 
> The last story was really painful so I thought I’d make this one a little fluffier, towards the end at least. It’s not very fun at the beginning lol
> 
> Set early season 12, after 12x03 The Foundry but before 12x07 Rock Never Dies.

Sam screamed. He screamed and screamed, and it rang in his ears. The only thing cutting through the burning hot pain was the laughing. _His_ laughing. Lucifer’s laughing. He was in the Cage. Again. It felt like he’d never leave. Except when Lucifer would make it seem like he did. When Lucifer would put Sam to sleep, put him in a dream, make him believe he was okay, that he was safe. Make him believe that he was with Dean.

He’d do it again and again. And Sam fell for it. Every damn time. He fell for it. Because Lucifer was in his head. He knew how to make it real, how to make it so real that Sam wouldn’t doubt it.

Everything was a blur. Except the pain. Through the blur of memories and the screaming, the pain remained. Through the haze of images of the Cage, images of Lucifer’s face, his _true_ face, the pain. Through the tormenting slideshows of Dean’s face, of the Impala, of his life, the pain was always there.

Sam tried to focus on where he was right now. He tried to latch onto anything, anything that he could be certain was real. He closed his eyes, he covered his ears, trying to block out his senses, trying to close in around himself, protect himself in any way that he could. But it didn’t work. Just as he was starting to feel the floor of the Cage again, feel the cold bars made of metal that burned hot, burned hotter than hell, he felt something else. One of the things he’d come to recognize.

The breathing, the way he could feel his hair ruffle slightly, the way goosebumps sprouted all over his skin, the way his entire body suddenly felt cold. Colder than anything. Colder than ice, colder than frostbite (a feeling Sam knew well), colder than when him and Dean had been trapped in a blizzard a few years before, the Impala broken down and only a thin blanket to keep them warm.

That was one of the few nights Dean had thrown the “no chick flick” rule out the window and had cuddled together in the backseat. It had been during the year after Sam had died, and Dean had made his deal. Meaning that Sam hadn’t been very reluctant at all to be close with his brother, not if he would lose him in just a few meager months.

Sam tried to latch onto those memories in the cage, tried to keep himself sane, but it was just so fucking hard, what with Lucifer breathing down his neck every two seconds, or at least that’s what it felt like.

Michael had toned down slightly in the past couple decades. Sam had been grateful for that at first, but now he wasn’t, because Michael being less active in Sam’s torture only seemed to piss Lucifer off even more.

The cold hand that suddenly clenched around the back of his neck dragged Sam out any thoughts.

“No, no more, please…” Sam pleaded. “Please… stop,” he whispered. Tears were in his eyes, his whole body was shaking. “Stop… p-please.”

Lucifer snarled. “Oh, Sammy… begging isn’t gonna get you anywhere with me, you know that, don’t you?”

Sam wrenched out of Lucifer’s grasp, only for Lucifer to move faster than light, slamming Sam into a corner of the cage, the icy metallic feeling from the bars seeping into his very bones.

“Sam,” Lucifer muttered. “Sammy, Sammy, Sam…”

“Stop… please,” Sam whispered again.

“Sam… Sam! SAM!”

Sam could hear something different. A deeper voice, a familiar voice, a loving voice. Sam tried to fight towards it. It was calling him.

And then Sam was falling. Falling, falling, falling ever faster. Until he was struggling for breath and staring at a dark ceiling. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving with choked sobs.

“Sammy, hey, hey, it’s okay.”

Dean. Dean was there. Sitting beside him. But no… what if? What if it was all just another trick? What if… what if this was Lucifer again? What if, what if, what if….

“N-No, De’, I — I need to kn-know,” Sam sputtered, pulling away from his brother.

In the dim light, Sam could see the understanding in Dean’s eyes. His brother hesitantly reached over and took left hand in his own and pressed his thumb into the middle of his palm. Sam winced.

“The year is 2017, your name is Sam William Winchester, and you are thirty-four years old. You and me live in the Bunker that our grandfather showed us a few years ago, sometimes Cas is here too. We’ve fought Leviathans, the friggin’ Scribe of God, you helped me get the Mark of _fuckin_ Cain off my arm, and we fought the Darkness. Oh, I also showed you the best way to make burgers and we’ve kind of, sort of, made friends with the King of Hell.”

Sam laughed, his throat thick with emotion.

He sat up, not caring if Dean would make fun of him for this later, and wrapped his arms around his brother, letting his head hang against Dean’s chest. Not a half-second later, Sam felt Dean’s arms wrap around him in turn, his head resting on his little brother’s. They sat like that for a few minutes, Sam’s shaky sobs slowly quieting as he calmed down. It was always a fight to struggle through the memories of the Cage after a nightmare like that, but just having Dean there, having Dean remind him of the things that had happened to them, good _and_ bad, helped.

When they withdrew from the hug, Dean looked at him seriously. “You’ve been having a lot of these types of dreams lately, it seems,” he said. “I mean, I know about the stuff British Biscuit did to you, but you said it didn’t have to do with… you know… _that_.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, yeah, no, it’s not cause of her.”

“Then what is it?”

Sam sighed, moving back to lean against the headboard, running his hands through his hair. “Lucifer.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean said.

“No, Dean… _Lucifer_. When he was here. When him and Chuck were here… when Lucifer was possessing Cas.”

Dean blinked. Then it all seemed to wash over him in a wave of horror and shame.

“Son of a bitch!” his brother yelled, standing up from the bed with fury. “Why hadn’t you told me?” Dean said, outraged. “I should’ve realized, dammit.”

“No, D—“

“Don’t say it’s okay,” Dean interrupted. “Do NOT say that, because it isn’t, okay? It just isn’t. I should’ve realized what him being here in the Bunker, in our _home_ , would do to you? Let alone him being in your fucking room.” Dean ran his hands through his hair.

“Okay, that’s it,” he said. “Stand up.”

“What? Why?” Sam said. He stood up, watching curiously as Dean took all the sheets and blankets off the bed and rolled them into a bundle. “I am going to bleach these right now, and you are going to sleep in my room tonight.”

“What? No, Dean, I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Look… I’ll never know what exactly happened to you while you were… there, but I can damn well try to help you through it as well as I can, so if that means that you take my bed tonight, then you do it, okay? You let me help you through this, like how you wanted to help me through _my_ time in the Pit.”

Sam pressed his mouth together in a thin line. “Deal,” he muttered.

Dean nodded, before leaving the room with the sheets and blankets in tow. When he came back a few minutes later, Sam had fallen back onto the mattress. “I told you to go to my room,” Dean said.

Sam looked up. “Oh, right… sorry,” he mumbled. He stood up and mutely walked down the hall to Dean’s room, his brother following closely as if to make sure he wasn’t going to fall over.

When they reached Dean’s room, Sam looked doubtfully at Dean again, opening

his mouth one more time to say that Dean didn’t need to give up his bed for him, but Dean just gave him a look that cut him off.

Sam rolled his eyes but inwardly he felt his heart warm at brother’s understanding and generosity.

Things like that never surprised him about Dean, but what did surprise him was when Dean nudged Sam with his foot.

Sam looked up, puzzled.

“Budge over," Dean said.

“What?” Sam laughed.

“Yeah, man, you think you’re gonna kick me out of my own bed?” Dean said with a smile. “C’mon, Sasquatch, I’m tired and want to go to sleep.” He’d replaced his teasing big brother smile with a fake annoyed look that Sam could see right through.

He rolled his eyes at his brother, but he moved over.

“People’ll really start thinking we’re gay if they knew we did this,” Sam muttered.

“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” Dean replied with a laugh. “You’re my brother, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am,” Sam replied, already sighing into the pillow with fatigue.

“Well,” Dean said, “I know you were better than anyone, little bro. And I happen to know that a) you sleep better when I’m nearby — I’d like to think it’s cause I’m so awesome —“

“You’re such a idiot.” Sam interrupted, throwing his brother’s words back at him, but there was no heat behind them.

“— and b) even if you wanted to hang out with me, you’d never ask for it, because my habit of not asking for help rubbed off on you.”

Sam hummed; he’d thought that was the end of it, and he was falling into a comfortable silence with his brother until Dean spoke again, softer this time. It was obvious that sleep was pulling them both down.

“I don’t want you to ever hesitate to ask me for help, Sammy,” Dean said. “About anything. If it’s a nightmare or a case or whatever, you’re still my little brother. It’s my job to take care of you. And I wasn’t able to do that in — in Cold Oak, or when you were down _there_ , or any of the other times, and I just… I just want to try and make up for that.”

Sam breathed deeply. “Dean, you have nothing to make up for me. You’ve always taken care of me, ever since Mom died. You were always the one taking care of me and you still have, our whole lives. Don’t blame yourself for that anymore, please. We’re okay now.”

Sam felt Dean shift. “Goodnight, Sammy.”

“Night, Dee.”

* * *


	7. I've Got You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #7
> 
> Prompt(s): Support; carrying
> 
> Author’s Note: This is short I’m sorry haha :D

Sam supported Dean back to the Impala. They’d just finished a hunt, taking out a nasty group of ghouls. One had bitten into Dean’s leg. The bleeding had slowed for now, but the makeshift bandage they’d hastily wrapped around it was steadily turning bloodier.

Dean grunted with pain as Sam helped him lean against the Impala and sit down sideways on the driver’s seat while he got the first aid kit out of the trunk.

“You know I had that handled,” Sam said, his voice muffled as he dug through the various weapons in the trunk for the aid kit.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean muttered. “I just saw that one coming at you from behind and forgot about the one on the ground.”

“Well,” Sam began, coming over with a bottle of antiseptic and a package of gauze, “it could’ve been worse,” he said. He knelt down and carefully unwrapped the messy injury. Sam had long given up trying to keep Dean from protecting him above himself. It was in Dean’s blood, his bones, to always put Sam first, no matter the cost to others or himself.

And if Sam was honest with himself, he did the same. He had put Dean ahead of himself too many times to count. Mostly it just pissed Dean off but Sam didn’t care. Dean was still here, wasn’t he?

But still, despite understanding Dean protecting him, it didn’t mean he enjoyed seeing his elder brother hurt or in pain.

“Quiet it down, Sammy,” Dean muttered.

Sam looked up. “What?”

“Your thoughts, they’re as loud as a train,” Dean said. “Calm down, I’m here, I’m alright.” He winced. “Well, most of me is here anyways.”

Sam frowned at the bad joke. “I hate when you get hurt,” he said, voicing his thoughts.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean said. “It ain’t fun,” he joked.

Sam glanced up at his brother’s face again and rolled his eyes before wrapping up his brother’s leg with gauze. “We’ll have to clean that better at home, but for now you should be okay,” he muttered. “I do hate it when you get hurt though, you know? Ninety precent of the time it’s probably because you were protecting me.”

Dean shook his head. “You know I’m not gonna stop protecting you, Sammy.”

“No, yeah, I know that. And to be honest…” Sam rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “To be honest, I don’t want you to stop. You’re my big brother. But maybe you can just try to be more careful in future? I hate having to patch you up after you get hurt by some monster that was supposed to be my kill or something.”

Dean nodded after a moment. “I’ll try,” he said. He gave Sam a small smile. “Home?” he said, hitting the top of the car before clambering into the drivers seat.

“Oh hell no,” Sam laughed. “You are not driving with a huge chunk missing out of your leg.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue but then he winced again at his leg and glared at Sam.

Sam just laughed as Dean slid across the seat to the passenger seat and he got in the driver’s seat.

“Just drive careful,” Dean warned, resting his head against the seat and closing his eyes. It was getting darker.

Sam rolled his eyes as he started the car and the drive home. They were only a few hours away from Lebanon, should be back before midnight.

Dean was asleep within thirty minutes. His head lolled the side and found its way onto Sam’s shoulder. Sam glanced at his brother and shook his head as he drove.

_Lay your weary head to rest, brother._

* * *


	8. Where Did Everybody Go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #8
> 
> Prompt(s): “Don’t say goodbye”
> 
> Author’s Note: Set sometime in season 12, maybe early season 13

“Sammy,” Dean muttered. “‘M sorry for… for….”

“No, Dean, don’t you dare say you’re sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Sam pleaded, trying to get the heavy wooden beam off both of them. They had been in an old warehouse tracking some rogue hellhounds. With Crowley gone, Hell was currently basically in a state of absolute chaos. At least, that was what Sam and Dean had to assume. They’d already killed two hellhounds earlier that week and had now been tracking a second pair. But the warehouse had been under construction, and the hellhounds had run into beams and equipment, showering Dean and Sam in wood and metal scraps and equipment. Most they avoided but a large wooden beam fell lopsided, and then rolled, pinning them against a wall.

Sam heaved again and again, trying so desperately hards to breathe and put what remaining strength he had into heaving the beam off himself and his brother.

“Sam,” Dean said. “Listen t’ me,” he slurred. There was blood soaking his shirt and sleeve where his arm had been broken.

“No, Dean, we’re gonna be fine, okay? We’ll be fine, so don’t you dare start saying goodbyes.”

Dean smiled slightly and obeyed, closing his eyes.

“Dean, you gotta stay awake for me,” Sam pleaded.

Sam grit his teeth. He took every bit of energy he could muster and threw it into getting the beak off of them. It took everything he had, but he was able to push it away. It was only a little bit, but it gave him and Dean a little bit of breathing room at least. Sam glanced around and it looked like he’d be able to clamber his way around the beam. And as long as he was very gentle — both with the beam and his brother — he’d be able to get Dean out too. As it was, he wouldn’t leave without Dean, no matter what. He refused to leave his brother.

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay,” Sam muttered. He gingerly rested his hands against the wall behind and maneuvered his way around and under the beam. When he heard the wood creak, he closed his eyes with a wince, but it remained stable.

He went around it and over to where Dean was bleeding.

“C’mon, brother. We gotta get outta here, come on,” he said, reaching Dean. His brother was pale and sweaty, his arm was bent crookedly, and he seemed to be having trouble bleeding which told Sam broken ribs. As a matter of fact, he probably had some cracked ribs too, but he couldn’t even start thinking about his own injuries when he saw Dean’s. He wrapped an arm around Dean’s and gently pulled his brother towards him. He tried to ignore the whimpers of pain that escaped Dean when his broken arm got jostled.

“We’re gonna be out soon, and I’ll get you to a hospital, okay?” Sam said, trying to calm his voice and not let it shake.

“Mmm,” Dean groaned. His eyes were slits now, and as Sam pulled Dean from the debris, his brother started going limp.

“No, Dean, Dean, you gotta stay awake for me, okay? I know you’ve lost a lot of blood, but you gotta stay awake for me.”

Sam felt a little bit of weight leave his arms, a tiny amount, but it meant Dean was a little more conscious. Conscious enough to keep his feet under him anyways.

When they were a few feet away from the beam, Sam let himself breathe a little more. Dean’s good arm was wrapped around his shoulder and the broken one was hanging limply at his side.

They made their way to the door, and got to the Impala. Dean was losing consciousness fast and when Sam lowered Dean into the passenger seat, he was taken back in his memory to a few years ago, when he’d carried Dean’s lifeless body to the car and taken him home. That image of his brother, lifelessly hanging in his arms or laying on his bed, that image had haunted his nights — and days — for years.

Sam drove as fast as he could, constantly glancing over to where his brother seemed to be growing paler and paler with every second. Getting to the hospital, begging for a doctor, and everything else, it all seemed to go in a blur. Sam was acting on instinct, his thoughts clouded with worry for Dean and only Dean. He’d even stopped noticing the pain in his own chest. Only when a nurse assured him that Dean would be sleeping for a while did he allow himself to be examined.

As soon as he was cleared to return to his brother’s side, he was there. Apparently he’d had two cracked ribs, but the nurse wrapped them in gauze and said as long as he took it easy for a few days, he’d be okay.

Sam finally allowed himself to breathe deeper and think when he was back in Dean’s room. His brother was asleep on the bed, his arm wrapped in a thick cast and a little bit of color back in his face, IVs transferring the needed blood back to his brother.

Another close call, Sam thought. He was tired of them. He knew that there would be many of them still awaiting them in future, but he was just so tired of almost losing his brother. He’d already lost Dean too many times to count — that one Tuesday still haunted him — and he hated the close calls that made him think he’d lose him again. Maybe for good that time.

But every time, Dean had pulled through. He’d come back somehow and Sam had no doubt that, while Dean would complain about the cast, at least he’d be complaining. And at the moment, Sam had no wish greater than to just hear his brother complain about something.

Don’t you cry no more, a little voice told him at the back of his head.

_There’ll be peace when you are done._

* * *


	9. For The Greater Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #9
> 
> Prompt(s): “Take me instead”
> 
> Author’s Note: Set near the end of season 3

“Take me instead!” Dean cried. “Please, please, don’t hurt him.” The demon smiled at them.

“No, Dean…” Sam pleaded. “Don’t… I can handle it.”

“Sam, I made a deal, it’ll be up next month anyways, please… please I’ll be okay.”

“No, Dean, I don’t want to lose you, please,” Sam cried. “Please don’t take him from me,” he said, glancing up at the demon who had them both bound.

“Oh, wah wah,” the demon mocked. She was possessing a red-headed girl, who looked fairly young, probably in her twenties. Were she not being possessed by a demon, Sam would’ve been sure Dean would hit on her, but as it was, she had a cold and cruel, mocking glare.

“Hmm,” the demon hummed with a smile. “Dean, you’re already gonna be down there in a month, won’t you? But if I took little Sam here…” she knelt down and slunk towards Sam, dragging a finger across his face. “If I took you, I’d be known as the girl who got Sammy Winchester.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam snarled.

“I can call you whatever I want, Sammy-Boy.” She snarled at him.

“Get. Away. From. Him.” Dean was staring at her, his eyes colder than anything Sam had ever seen.

The demon smirked as she made her way over to Dean. He never broke eye contact with her, and those cold eyes seemed to take the demon off guard. Enough so that she didn’t notice the figure enter the room behind her.

“Get away from my boys,” Bobby said. _Bang!_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god this one was so weak I'm sorry


	10. They Look So Pretty When They Bleed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #10 
> 
> Prompt(s): Blood loss; trail of blood
> 
> Author’s Note: Set during early to mid season 14, before Jack is dying, but after 14x04: Mint Condition. I feel like the hunters just slowly ebbed out of the Bunker in season 14 (thank Chuck) but I wanted a little story to explain it and also get the last few stragglers out lmao. This story hurt me so fucking much to write

Dean dragged himself out of the Impala, shaky with pain and blood loss. He’d gone out alone on a hunt. It had seemed like it’d be pretty easy. A lone werewolf that had killed two people. But this werewolf had been different.

Dean had been sure he could handle it on his own; Sammy was exhausted from constant research and taking care of the people from Apocalypse World. Most of them had moved out of the Bunker by now, something Dean was immensely grateful for. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, it was just that he didn’t like them being in his home. He’d gotten the feeling that Sam was starting to feel that way too. Only Maggie and two others remained, but they were hunting nearly all the time, finding their footing, so Dean and Sam were happy to have the Bunker back to themselves for the most part.

Dean had found Sam asleep in the library that morning, so when Dean headed out for the hunt, he merely smiled fondly at his little brother and left a note, saying where he’d gone.

He knew Sam had woken up when he received a text after about an hour on the road that simply read, _“Be careful.”_ Dean had sent back a thumbs up emoji.

One werewolf was something he could easily take care of himself. He’d once taken out a whole nest of vamps before on his own. Although to be fair, he’d had the Mark of Cain and a bloodlust back then.

But when he’d started engaging with the wolf, he’d immediately noticed something different. Dean could… sense it, in a way. This was one of the creatures that Michael had experimented with when he’d been possessing Dean. Dean could sense the grace. The cursed grace that had once been flowing through _his own_ veins. The acidic, rancid grace that had made him feel unclean, filthy. And the wolf… well… Dean supposed that that explained the curious look of recognition on the wolf’s face when he’d first seen Dean. But then, when the wolf realized that Dean was no longer Michael, he had snarled and leapt at the elder Winchester with renewed hatred and savage snarls.

Dean had been completely unprepared for this possibilty, meaning that he also had no idea that the wolf would be impervious to silver. The only reason Dean escaped alive was because he’d been able to get to the trunk and grab one of their machetes before hacking the monster’s head off. But not without sustaining many deep cuts across his chest, sides, back, and arms.

Thank god the hunt hadn’t been very far away. Only a couple of hours. Dean’s first thought, of course, had been to call Sam, but his phone had been cracked by one of the wolf’s claws. And, _of fucking course,_ him and Sam had taken all their spare phones out of the Impala to charge the day before. He’d had no reason to think he’d need one so they were all still sitting on one of the cabinets at home.

So he drove home, blaring music as loud as he could bear. The beat made his head hurt even more but at least it kept him conscious. The drive home was a blur.

When he finally parked in front of the Bunker — he’d have Sam put the car in the garage later — he nearly fell out of the driver’s seat and basically dragged himself across the hard ground. He was able to push himself up enough, tears brimming his eyes from the painful burning across his entire body, to reach the Bunker door and open it. Pulling the heavy metal door open tugged at the scratches on his arm, but he bit down on his lip to bite down his scream, only letting out a muttered whimper. He’d been through pain, so many times, too many to count, but no matter how numb you feel inside, getting sliced up by a werewolf still hurt like hell.

“S’mmy,” he muttered. He pulled himself to the staircase and nudged the door closed with his foot. “Sammy!” he called a little louder.

“Dean, is that you?” He sighed with relief as he heard his little brother’s voice.

“Need a little help, brother,” he muttered. Barely a second later he saw a blurry figure by his side. He instantly knew it was Sam.

“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam’s voice was shaking. “What the fuck happened?”

“’ll expl’n lat’r,” Dean muttered. “Think we could get me off the floor now?” His vision was still blurry; he could feel blood slowly dripping from the wounds all over his body, and his mind was clouded with pain.

“C’mon, I got you.” A second later, he felt Sam’s arms wrap around him and haul him to his feet. “You gotta help me out a little bit, Dee,” Sam muttered. “I don’t think me dropping you down the stairs would feel very great.”

Dean groaned. “Yeah, probably not.” Dean summoned the tiny little essence of strength he had left and managed to get his feet under him. His eyes were closed as Sam helped him down the stairs, but when they reached the bottom, his knees buckled again.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean muttered, choking back a sob. The pain was getting to be near unbearable now.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Dean could still hear how his brother’s voice was laced with worry and stress, and he felt bad for worrying his brother so much. But with an apology on his lips, another wave of pain hit him, and the last thing Dean felt before the blackness, were Sam’s arms carrying him to the infirmary.

* * *

“No, please don’t,” Dean pled. “Please, please, not the box.” He couldn’t believe he was begging. He never begged, certainly not for himself. Part of him was ashamed of begging, but the other part couldn’t care less. He was scared, he’d admit it. The box was so painful. It was terrifying. It hurt him, _destroyed_ him from the inside out.

Michael just smiled at him in the mirror. “I have something even… _better_ … in mind,” the archangel said with a devilish smile.

If Dean had been in control of his body, he was sure he’d be shaking. The next thing he knew, he was enveloped in cold darkness. He couldn’t see anything, not even his own hands. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he couldn’t even scream. It was almost like he was in the emptiness of space, but somehow, someway… this was worse.

“Let me out! Let me out! Please! Please, let me out. _Let me out_.”

* * *

Dean shot up in the infirmary bed but then instantly regretted it as his body screamed at him from all the numerous cuts. Tears were filling his eyes as he instantly sought Sam. His little brother was beside him, a cloth in hand, stained red from the blood Sam had been cleaning away .

“Dean! Dean, hey, stay with me, man.” Sam’s hands were suddenly grasping his shoulders.

Dean blinked away the hot tears, just for more to replace them. His vision was still blurry with pain, the nightmare filling his head. His own screams playing over and over again in his head, as if they were on some sickening loop.

“S-Sammy?” Dean whispered.

“Breathe, Dean, just breathe for me, brother.” Sam sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Dean into him. “You’re good, you’re okay. You’re safe. You’re home in the Bunker.”

Dean took a few shaky breaths, each one getting slightly deeper and calmer. His head was against Sam’s chest, and when he blinked his eyes open, free of tears this time, he became aware that there was someone else in the room. Probably someone Sam had asked to help him with his brother’s injuries.

He instantly stiffened and Sam sensed it, because Dean felt his brother shift and jerk his head towards the door, hissing something in a commanding tone. The person instantly scuttled out of the room like a beetle, closing the door behind them.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said, wrapping his arms around his brother tighter. “It’s just you and me now, you’re okay. We’re both okay. It’s just us.”

After a few minutes, after regaining his breath, Dean pulled away. His vision was clearer now and he looked at Sam. His brother’s eyes were filled with concern.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

Sam looked at him “Don’t you think I should be the one to ask? You’re the one who dragged yourself across the doorframe and started bleeding out all over the stairs, and then passed out in my arms.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Dean mumbled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Didn’t mean to scare me? Dee, you came home looking like… like I don’t know, a hellhound had gotten you again. Then you passed out, I had to carry you in here, and I only just started stitching one of the thirty fucking slices in your skin you have all over.”

Sam’s voice had risen, but when he saw Dean wince, he lowered it again.

“Why didn’t you call me? What happened? I thought it was just a wolf you were hunting. Or was it a pack?”

Dean shook his head. “Phone cracked,” he muttered. He leaned back against some pillows, his eyes closed and jaw clenched in pain. “It was just the wolf, but — but it was one of Michael’s. One of his… experiments.”

“You mean… so it was stronger than just a normal wolf?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “Big-time. Silver didn’t even phase it. While I was trying to shoot it, that’s when it got most of it’s work done on me. I finally managed to get one of our machetes and slice the thing’s head off. But by that time…”

Sam nodded. “Okay, okay, well, we’ll figure that out then,” Sam said. “Later though. I need to start stitching you up. Looks like this one started bleeding again,” he said, pointing at one on Dean’s forearm.

Dean nodded again and swallowed. Sam’s face swam before him as he brother started threading the needle through his skin.

“Who was that helping you?” Dean mumbled, closing his eyes again, wincing with every tug of the needle.

“Maggie,” Sam said. “Didn’t mean for her to be here when you woke up. Only to help me get you fixed up. But then…” he trailed off.

“I woke up,” Dean finished for him.

“Yeah,” Sam said. Dean blinked at his brother. His lips were pressed together tightly as he nimbly threaded the needle and thread back and forth, weaving his brother’s skin back together. Dean could see how much Sam hated doing this. He could see it, because he knew how many times that face had appeared on his own features. Neither of them liked fixing each other up. It wasn’t that they minded; it was just that they hated seeing the other hurt.

“You know, I don’t particularly enjoy having people here either,” he said softly.

Dean didn’t say anything as Sam continued.

“When you were… gone… I needed something to distract me from what could be happening to you. The Apocalypse-verse people were an easy distraction. Something to deal with when I hit a dead end on research or leads on Michael. I supposed my eagerness to help them out made them think they were welcome to stay. Which they were… until you got back. Now it’s just awkward, but I haven’t really had the guts to just tell them to leave.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t want you having to do that, Sam. You know these people, trained them. They’re important to you.”

Sam shook his own head, stitching the second to last cut together. “Yeah, but this is _our_ home. You and me, Cas, Jack. _Our_ home. And it’s wrong of me to let them continue to stay, especially when I see what it does to you.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

Sam cut the thread, then re-threaded the needle for the final time. He gestured to Dean to hold out his arm before continuing. “I mean, that I see the way you act around them. You have your guard up all the time, and that’s because you don’t know them. Which I understand. I mean, that’s how I was at first. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep your guard up. Not when we’re in our _home_. The only place that’s ever been truly ours, except for the car that is.”

Dean smiled fondly. Sam always laughed at Dean’s love for the Impala, but Dean knew how much she meant to Sam. He’d noticed plenty of times where Sam would sleep better in the car than he would his own bed. He’d notice Sam coming in from the garage some mornings, early enough to tell Dean that his brother had been sleeping out there. Dean didn’t blame him. She was one hell of a car. She’d kept them safe for nearly their whole lives. She was their home.

But so was the Bunker.

Sam finished the final stitch. “Alright, now here.” Sam stood up, dropping the last bit of remaining thread and the needle onto the side table, before scooping up a couple of white tablets.

“Take these,” Sam said, holding them out. Dean palmed them and then took the glass of water Sam was also holding out. He swallowed the pills down before draining the glass.

“You look like a mummy,” Sam said a few minutes later when he’d finished covering nearly all the cuts on Dean with gauze.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, well, don’t let anyone else think that, they might try to come decapitate me.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Stay in here or your room?”

“My room,” Dean replied easily. He let Sam pull him to his feet, holding him steady as he swayed on his feet.

“Take it easy, take it easy,” Sam muttered.

Dean nodded after a moment, signaling that he was alright to try and make his way down the halls and to his room and the beloved memory foam mattress.

When Dean finally sat down on his bed, Sam watched him like a hawk.

“I’m alright, Sammy,” Dean said softly.

“You lost a lot of blood, Dean. I’m just making sure you’re as okay as you say are.”

“I am,” Dean assured him. He reached out and grabbed his brother’s wrist. “I’m alright. I got back here to the Bunker, you patched me up, I’ll be right as rain in a few days or so.” As he said that, however, a gentle wave of pain flooded his body. The cuts were still burning slightly, something that wouldn’t go away for a couple of days at least. He couldn’t help but wince.

“Yeah, right,” Sam said with a minute frown. “Get some sleep, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. He gingerly pulled back the bedcovers and laid down. Sam continued to watch him.

Dean laughed lightly with his eyes closed. “Don’t just stand there like a creep,” he muttered. “Pictures are over there.” He gestured with a thumb to a place on his other side, towards the dresser.

It was a common theme with both of them. When something happened, they liked to look at the the few pictures of their family they had. It wasn’t many, but they were small pieces of their life they’d been lucky enough to keep safe.

Dean sensed Sam going over and taking the small pile of photos in his hand, and a second later, the other side of the bed sinking slightly.

Sam’s presence couldn’t ease the pain from the cuts all over his body, but it did help him relax. Just knowing his brother was their, always at his side. He fell asleep fairly soon after that. And if he had to bet, Sam did too.

* * *


	11. Psych 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #11
> 
> Prompt(s): struggling; crying
> 
> Author’s Note: Missing scene/tag to 8x20 Pac-Man Fever. I know we already got a brother hug in this episode but I wanted a little more okay?

Charlie was crying in Dean’s arms. Breaking down, everything washing over her. Sam was watching them, his eyes worried and curious. Dean rested his chin on Charlie’s head as his eyes met his brother’s.

His brother. Alive, safe, _here_. Dean couldn’t get the images out of his mind: of his brother laying there in the dark room, sick, pale, ghostly looking. It terrified Dean. Seeing Sam like that, asleep, comatose, it’s worse than Sam being injured, even worse than Sam being dead, because Dean can fix those. He can fix Sam’s injuries, he can even fix Sam being dead, but he can’t fix _that_. And it scares him more than he can say.

So as he held Charlie tightly with one arm, he didn’t hesitate to stretch out the other and pull Sam into a little trio hug. Sam wrapped one arm around Dean, and the other around Charlie. Dean didn’t know how long they must’ve been standing there. He only knew that he had two of the most important people in his life, tightly held in his arms at that moment. His little brother, and the girl who, in so many ways, was his little sister.

And Dean didn’t want to ever let them go.

* * *


	12. I Think I've Broken Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #12
> 
> Prompt(s): Broken down; broken bones
> 
> Author’s Note: Tag to 12x07 Rock Never Dies

“Goddamnit, goddamnit,” Sam muttered, his hands wrapped around his head as he rocked back and forth on the mattress of his room. “Get out, get out, please,” he begged. Ever since going up against Lucifer again, this time posing as Vince Vincente, Sam’s memories had come back. Just like they always did after an encounter with the devil. It was the middle of the night, around 4 a.m. last time he’d looked at the clock.

Sleep wouldn’t come. He hadn’t really had any hope that it would, but he had still attempted it. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw those red eyes staring him, the evil grin, the face of the monster who had torn Sam’s mind apart. No matter what face he was wearing, he was still Lucifer, and that face would always haunt Sam. In the light as well as the dark, during the night and the day, when he was alone or even with others.

Even the name could send shudders down Sam’s spine. He’d gotten better over the past few years. But fighting him again just a half-day ago, it brought everything back.

A sudden knock at the door made Sam jump.

“Sam?” His brother’s voice came through the door. “Sammy, what’s wrong?”

Sam got off the mattress with trembling hands and legs, slowly walking towards the door. He opened it a crack.

Dean’s features looked concerned, and when his eyes roamed over his younger brother’s face, he seemed to understand.

Sam’s eyes must’ve been showing his unspoken question because Dean started to speak. “I was getting some coffee,” he explained, holding up the mug in his hand.

“Oh,” Sam said lamely. “I — I didn’t mean to —“

“Nah, it’s okay,” Dean said. He shook his head. “Couldn’t sleep either.”

Sam nodded, drawing back from the door and allowing Dean to enter. Sam sat back down against the back of the headboard, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees.

Dean came over and sat down across from Sam. He sipped his coffee. Sam couldn’t see him but he could sense his brother looking at him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Dean asked after a few more minutes of silence.

Sam shook his head. But then he started to speak anyways. “It’s weird,” he began. “I — I feel… strong, brave when we’re actually fighting him, maybe it’s because I feel in control, but something about the — the aftermath, I guess you’d call it. After we… deal with him or… even after somebody mentions his name… I feel like I’m back… _there_ … again. I can see his face, his _real_ face, the way he was. I can almost… feel him. It feels like he’s in my head again.”

He glanced up and over to where Dean sat, watching him calmly.

“I — I don’t see him or anything. I mean, when I’m asleep, but not when I’m awake or anything. I just… I just remember him. Everything he did. And I know I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t let him get in my head, but —“

“Hey, hey, stop.” Dean’s soft voice made Sam look up. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” Dean said. “You went through something that nobody, absolutely _nobody_ , especially not you, should have to go through. It’s completely understandable that you still… see him and… feel him.” Dean took a deep breath as Sam nodded minutely. His brother’s words meant more to him than he could say; he just didn’t have the strength to show it right now.

Dean continued speaking a moment later. “I — I know it’s different, and that I wasn’t there as long… and I also know that he’s dead, but I do think I know a little bit of what you're going through.”

Sam looked up.

“Alastair,” Dean said, his voice low. “He still gets to me, whenever his name coms up or something. I can still feel him. I can still… feel him there, behind me, using me.” He wiped a hand over his face.

“Dean, I —“ Sam began, but Dean cut him off with a hand.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything for me, okay?” he said. “I just want you to know that, even though it’s not the same, I still… I still get it, okay?” Dean pressed his lips together. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide this stuff from me just because you think I won’t understand. I mean, I may not understand all the things he did and the — the specifics, but I understand _you_.”

Sam nodded and blinked, slightly ashamed to find that his eyes were filled with tears. He wiped a hand over his face, trying to brush them away. Dean looked down at his coffee which was bound to be cold by now.

“You want a cup?” Dean asked, gesturing with the mug.

Sam lifted his chin from his knees and smiled slightly. He nodded.

“Okay then, c’mon, bitch.” Dean stood up and waited for Sam to stand up too. He put an arm around Sam’s shoulders as they walked down the hall towards the kitchen.

He poured himself and Sam a mug each. Sam was still quiet, but he knew Dean understood.

Dean slid the mug over to him as they sat at their small table in a comfortable silence.

“Thanks, jerk.”

* * *


	13. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #13
> 
> Prompt(s): I’m going with an alternate prompt again cause Day 13’s prompts didn’t inspire me much so I chose ‘nightmares’
> 
> Author’s Note: One of my many SPN headcanons is that Dean never gets over how much damage he did while he had the Mark of Cain. Another one that kind of goes along with that is that Dean’s arm burns occasionally after a kill or something, just kind of a reminder. I mean it makes sense, whether it’s mental or actually physically burns, it makes sense that that would happen. If you agree with these or have any expansions, feel free to let me know. I’d love to know your thoughts on it. 
> 
> Takes place early-mid season 11. After 11x04 Baby, but before 11x09 O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Sam finished off the vamp with a quick and clean cut of his machete. The body went limp as its head bounced across the floor. Sam looked up and immediately sought out his brother on the other side of the empty field. Sam felt his heart plummet as he saw Dean on his knees. He made his way over to him quickly.

“Dean, you good?” he asked, his eyes scanning Dean for signs of injury. He saw none. Just some vampire guts but that was usual. Dean didn’t reply, so Sam tentatively knelt down in front of him.

“Dean? You’re scaring me, man. What’s up? Did a vamp get you?”

Dean looked up at Sam, as though seeing him for the first time in days, weeks even.

“Sammy?” His big brother’s normally strong voice was small, almost scared.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

Dean behaving this way was very uncharacteristic and it was taking Sam off guard, unnerving him. His brother’s hands seemed to be shaking and he’d lowered his gaze from Sam’s face again.

“Dean, talk to me, what’s going on?” Sam asked again, not bothering to try and keep his growing panic from seeping into his voice.

“The Mark,” Dean finally muttered after another moment.

Sam’s heartbeat sped up tremendously at those two words. _No. It wasn’t possible. They’d removed the Mark. That’s why the Darkness was a thing, the Mark was removed._

Sam, without a word, grabbed ahold of Dean’s right wrist and outstretched it, rolling the sleeve of Dean’s plaid shirt up to where the Mark had rested for far too long.

Sam, despite knowing that it was gone, couldn’t help but let out a deep breath,one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he saw that Dean’s arm was still Mark-free.

“Dean, the Mark’s gone, remember? We got it off, you’re free.” Sam put a hand on Dean’s face and lifted it slightly. Dean’s eyes moved slowly, but eventually they found Sam’s.

He blinked a couple times, and seemed to come out of the slight trance he’d been in.

“Sam, what happened?”

Sam put his arms under Dean’s elbows and helped him stand. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was fighting the vamps,” Dean began, “and then it — it all just went red, and then I saw you.”

“You were — uh — you were muttering about the Mark,” Sam said hesitantly. “Do you remember that?”

Dean shook his head. But as he did so, he winced and clutched at his right arm. He rolled the sleeve up and looked. Sam glanced too, expecting to see the clear skin he had earlier, but instead, his brother’s arm was red. And the faintest hint of a shadow burned on the skin in the shape of the Mark of Cain.

“No, no, it’s not possible,” Dean muttered, running his fingers over the faded symbol.

Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the shadow. It wasn’t possible. It _couldn’t_ be possible. But as he and Dean looked at it, it slowly faded and Dean’s arm looked normal once again.

They looked up at each other.

“Sammy, what was that?” Dean asked. “It’s supposed to be gone, right? It _is_ gone. It’s been gone for months, and then this?” Dean’s voice and his eyes were filled with fear, and Sam was pretty sure his face mirrored it.

The images of Dean covered in blood, desperate, scared of what was happening, those were images Sam was determined to never have to see or relive again.

“Let’s — let’s just go home for now, we’ll figure it out, okay?”

Dean nodded mutely.

* * *

They drove home in silence, Sam behind the wheel. It had worried Sam when his brother had wordlessly handed over the Impala’s keys but then he saw how shaky Dean’s hands still were and figured that that was probably a good idea.

They got home around midnight and neither of them were particularly hungry so they said goodnight, Sam trying to give Dean a reaffirming look as they parted ways down the hall.

Sam had just barely drifted off after a few hours of trying to sleep when his brother’s yells startled him.

Sam quickly stood and sprinted from his room and down the hall to Dean’s room, not hesitating to push the door open. Dean was sweating and pale on the mattress, his form stiff and rigid. Sam wiped a hand over his face. It took a few minutes but he eventually got Dean to wake up and calm down slightly. Dean didn’t look at Sam much; he rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes, seemingly ignoring his younger brother.

Sam ran his hands through his hair. What a night. He had a feeling he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight, if any. And he had a feeling it would be the same for Dean. So in one swift motion, Sam pulled the covers back on the other side of Dean’s bed and laid down, his back almost touching Dean’s. He felt his brother stiffen slightly but then relax after a moment. Neither of them fell asleep, but at least they were assured that, whatever was going on, they’d get through it together.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #14  
> Prompt(s): Fire  
> Author’s Note: Hi yeah this is so short I’m sorry

Sam coughed and spluttered as he struggled to escape the burning house, Dean leaning on him. Or maybe it was Sam leaning on Dean. It was hard to tell. They were both stunned and breathless, helping each other out of the building. It had been a weird case, that was for sure. Dean and Sam had never dealt with a ghost like that.

They’d burned the bones, and that should’ve been it. But he kept coming back and no matter what they tried to burn, the ghost remained. There had been no significant relations or friends of the ghost either as the ghost had already been dead for nearly seventy years.

“Why don’t we just burn the house?” Dean suggested when neither of them had any other suggestions of what could be tying the ghost down.

Sam shrugged. At this point he was down to try anything. The house was deserted, and was at least thirty minutes away from any significant town.

But apparently the ghost didn’t like his house being set on fire, because as soon as Dean dropped the flare to the floorboards and started to leave through the front door with Sam, the ghost had appeared in front of them and pushed them back into the ever-growing flames. Dean had lunged for the salt gun that had fallen from Sam’s arms and skidded across the floor, just managing to slip his fingers around the trigger and shoot as the spirit lunged towards Sam.

The ghost vanished with a screech. Sam and Dean pulled each other up as fast as possible, knowing that the salt round wouldn’t keep the ghost at bay for long, especially not one as strong as that one.

Flames licked at them as the brother ran from the house. They got a few feet away before slowing and crashing onto the ground, gasping for clean and cool night air.

Sam and Dean both had some minor burns but nothing some raw egg — yeah Dean thought it was weird too — and bandages couldn’t fix up in a few days.

“Well,” Dean muttered, sitting up and watching the house burn, “that’s a new one.”

* * *


	15. Into The Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #15
> 
> Prompt(s): Possession (took this one a little loosely; I’m using the aftereffects of Sam’s possession by Gadreel)
> 
> Author’s Note: Direct tag to 9x10 Road Trip  
> Okay but this story hurt me like a bitch. A long time ago I imposed on myself a rule to never write anything set in season 9. It’s my least favorite season for a couple reasons but the only one that really matters is that I hate how much Dean and Sam fight. I mean, it like physically hurts me to see them angry with each other. So. Yeah.   
> Anyways, I knew from the beginning that writing anything set in this season would be really hard and yet here I am. Chances are this will be the first and last time I break my rule but we’ll see. I’d say enjoy, but I don’t know if anyone is really gonna enjoy this one.

Cas had tried to talk to him once or twice in the car; Sam had shut him down, his voice harsh and bitter.

When they’d reached the Bunker, Sam didn’t do anything, not even speak to Cas, before walking straight to his room. He didn’t stay there for long though. The idea that that _angel_ had been in his room made him want to scream in fury. He ripped the sheets and blankets from the bed, torn the pillowcases from the pillows, then dragged it all into the hall. Then he slammed the door shut behind him with a loud _bang_. He walked down the hall, passing Dean’s room as he did so. The door was open and he couldn’t help but glance in.

Dean’s room looked exactly as he expected. The bedcovers slightly rumpled, the headphones laying on the nightstand, pictures and weapons strewn precariously around the room, but still in a very _Dean_ fashion.

There was the tiniest hint of guilt in Sam’s heart as he remembered the words he’d spoken to Dean those few hours ago. How he had spoken them so coldly. How he had told his brother to _go_ , as though it was the easiest thing to say. Which it was, but it was also the hardest.

But then Kevin’s smiling face swam in front of his eyes and his heart was filled was pure grief and anger again.

Sam wasn’t angry that Dean had saved him. God knows his brother loved him. It was a well known fact between the two of them that if one was dead, the other basically couldn’t function. Sam understood that.

No, Sam wasn’t angry that Dean had saved him. Sam was angry that Dean had lied to him. Again and again and again. Over and over to his face! Cas had said something earlier about how Dean wanted Gadreel gone as soon as possible, but that Sam still wasn’t well enough, but Sam didn’t care about that.

Dean knew Sam. Knew that Sam would’ve fought had Dean asked him to. Hell, that’s exactly what had happened! Dean had shouted, begged Sam to come back to him.

_There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you!_

And Sam had fought. He’d said _yes_. He’d said yes for his brother. For his stupid, selfish-and-yet-completely-selfless big brother.

Goddammit, why did everything in their lives have to be so fucking complicated! Sam had gone by Dean’s room now. He made his way through the halls and then the kitchen. The sight of a couple empty beer bottles and a few plates in the sink reminded him of just a day or so ago when him and Dean had been laughing about something or other over a dinner of Dean’s burgers.

Damn it. Sam swiped the bottles off the table and threw them into the trashcan where they landed with a muffled shatter. Then he — rather unceremoniously — washed the plates in the sink and tossed them onto the counter to dry.

Sam’s heart, his eyes, his hands, his entire being felt cold. His jaw was set tightly as he glanced around the kitchen and then left and went into the library. A lamp was shattered across the floor, books strewn all over the room. The whole room was just a mess. He’d clean it properly tomorrow, he thought as he grabbed a few of the books from the floor. There was no sign of Cas, although if Sam was being honest, he didn’t know and didn’t much care where the _angel_ was at the moment. Sam felt as though he could go the rest of his life without seeing an angel again, even if that angel was Cas.

Eventually, Sam found himself in the small sitting room where him and Dean had put a couch and a TV. They’d even made sure to buy a couch long enough to hold Sam’s lanky figure because Dean had _insisted_ that his little brother would undoubtedly fall asleep on it at some point and there was no need to have a cranky little brother who’d slept with his legs or head hanging off the end of the sofa. Sam stared hard at the simple piece of furniture for a moment, images of him and Dean laughing together while watching something flashing through his mind.

The ocean of emotions continued coursing through him, feeling like the culmination of pain, resentment, grief, and so much anger. It felt as though it would explode from him like a tidal wave soon.

He tentatively laid down on the sofa, his hands curling around the cushions and his head resting on a pillow.

He didn’t sleep. He _couldn’t_ sleep. _How_ could he be expected to sleep after everything that had just gone down?

Sam’s eyes strayed over the black TV screen opposite him. Part of him thought of turning it on, running some stupid program or something, but that thought left almost as quickly as it had arrived.

Sam didn’t sleep. He _couldn’t_ sleep. _How_ could he be expected to sleep when he was simultaneously enraged with his brother, and yet wishing more than anything that he was here?


	16. A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #16
> 
> Prompt(s): Shoot the hostage (again, sorta loose *shrug*)
> 
> Author’s Note: This is sort of an AU story I don’t really know where it came from but hope ya’ll enjoy anyways. Set in season 12. Warning: BAMF and ruthless Winchesters who don’t really give a fuck about anything except each other. 
> 
> But it’s season 12, you know? Who can blame ‘em?

“Don’t touch him!” Sam snarled. Dean was laying across from him on the ground, unconscious. Sam held his breath as the masked man continued aiming the gun at his brother. Dean had been knocked out, choked to unconsciousness. Sam could see the bruises forming on his brother’s neck already in the shape of the man’s fingers.

“Awww, is he your boyfriend?” the masked woman across the room teased.

Sam flicked his eyes to her. She seemed to notice the pure hatred in his gaze because she blinked away quickly.

Sam strained at the ropes binding him. He’d managed to get the penknife out of his pocket and had cut away some of the rope but he still could break them. He continued cutting at them, all the while watching the two masked persons. They had barged into Sam and Dean’s motel room, demanding information on the case the boys had been working on last week. Sam had wondered if they were maybe a couple of rogue hunters, or maybe even monsters, but now he really couldn’t care less. Sam had managed to clip the man in the shoulder, but it had been the middle of the night, and while Sam and Dean’s night vision was good, the two intruders seemed to be able to see uncannily well.

They’d pinned Dean down and then Sam a few minutes later. Thinking about it, Sam figured they were vampires or werewolves maybe, because normal humans weren’t usually able to overpower his big brother like that.

When Sam finally felt the ropes slacken, he didn’t show any outward signs. The two intruders were talking in hushed tones now, and while their guns were still trained on the boys, — hers on Sam and his on Dean — their eyes were on each other.

Dean’s gun was laying a few feet away from him on the ground. Sam laughed to himself when he realized how stupid their captors were to not even collect the fallen weapons.

Sam was able to move freely now, but he was still discreet in his movements. He moved only an inch or two so that he was able to nudge Dean’s gun with his foot. He slid it closer, barely making a sound across the carpet. When the gun was close enough to reach it with his hand, he took a deep breath, and then moved in a flash.

He snatched up the gun, clicked and aimed, and shot the man in the leg, then he turned the gun on the woman.

“Drop the guns and kick them over to me,” Sam said. The man was on his knees now, clutching at his thigh which was bleeding profusely.

The woman seemed to snarl again and she threw her gun to the ground angrily. The man had dropped his own when Sam had shot him. She slid them over to Sam one at a time. He grabbed them and put them on the bed behind him.

Sam went immediately over to check on Dean, flicking his eyes up every now and then.

“Dean?” Sam shook his brother’s shoulder. “Dean, come on back to me, man,” he said. “I could take these two punks out no problem, but I figured you’d want a crack at them too, huh?”

Dean stirred. He blinked open an eye and then the other. “S’mmy?” he croaked.

“Yeah, there you go.” Sam gave his brother a hand and helped him up into a sitting position.

“Wh’t h’ppened?” Dean slurred, rubbing his neck where the man had been choking him while the woman had punched Sam.

“These losers seem to think they got the drop on us; why don’t we show them who they’re really dealing with?” Sam asked.

“Sounds good to me,” Dean said. Sam helped him up, then handed him a gun from the bed. He intended to check Dean’s responsiveness later, but for now, he just wanted to take care of this filth.

“Masks off,” Sam said, training his gun on the woman while Dean steadied him on the man. Now, _they_ were the hostages.

The masked pair exchanged a quick glance, looked back at the weapons trained on their hearts, before pulling the masks off, revealing bared fangs.

Sam and Dean exchanged a quick glance, a nod, raised their guns an inch, before two _bangs_ erupted in sync throughout the small room. The werewolves fell together, landing in a heap.

“Lucky we still had silver bullets leftover from the last hunt. Guess it makes sense why they were wondering about that now, huh?” Dean said.

“Yep,” Sam hummed. “C’mon, we better get outta here.”

He stuffed their things into a bag while Dean tried to unlatch and open a window quickly — he failed so he just shattered it with his elbow — and they clambered out as they heard people moving outside and above them in the second floor of the motel. The Impala was parked around back so they were able to hurry towards it and get in quickly.

“I’m driving,” Sam said.

Dean didn’t have time to question it, so he tossed the keys to Sam as they got in. Sam revved the engine and they were gone, and nobody was ever the wiser.


	17. I Did Not See That Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #17
> 
> Prompt(s): Blackmail; dirty secret; wrongfully accused
> 
> Author’s Note: Set pre-series while Sam is at Stanford. This is also one of my longest fics for this series so far, coming in around 2.4k words. 
> 
> Note: I have no idea how college works, I’m homeschooled and have no intention of going to college, so I kinda just have to take what I can from how I’ve seen college portrayed in media. Apologies for anything I got wrong.

* * *

“But I didn’t!” Sam said again for what felt like the thousandth time. “I would never cheat, you have to believe me.”

“Mr. Winchester, we have three sources who say you did,” the Dean of Stanford said. “Believe me, I do not take pleasure in this but I’m afraid —“

“Please, I — I’ll figure something out, just… please… please don’t take this from me, this is my life,” Sam pleaded.

The man in front of Sam had his lips pressed into a line. “I am sorry, Sam. You have a few days to get your things together, but I’m afraid you’ve lost your scholarship.”

Sam felt his heart pounding. He couldn’t feel, he couldn’t think. He stood up numbly, grabbing his bag and walking across the Stanford campus towards his apartment.

Cheating. Sam would never cheat. He’d never cheated on anything before. Not a quiz, not a test, not even a fucking worksheet in elementary school. He’d never cheated before in his life.

But now. Because of Troy Devon and his two friends, Greg and Vincent, who all three hated Sam’s guts, he was out. Sam had never done anything to Troy or his friends.

As far as he could tell, the only reason Troy hated him was because Sam had gotten in on scholarship. Troy, apparently, thought that that was unfair. And every day, Troy seemed to hate him even more for it. And every day, Troy seemed intent on reminding Sam that he hated him somehow. Every test Sam aced, every time a professor praised Sam, every time Sam was ahead on homework, Troy hated him more and more.

He’d never gone after Sam physically. Sam got the feeling that Troy was slightly intimidated by Sam’s height. But vandalizing essays? Teasing him? That wasn’t below Troy. Sam could put up with it. He’d put up with worse before.

But now this? Troy had set up a big lie with his buddies, saying that Sam had been looking at his classmates’ tests, sneaking answers, and it got Sam kicked out of school.

Sam was almost to his apartment. Tears were falling unashamedly from his face and there was only one person in the world he wanted to see right now. His big brother. 

He’d been missing Dean so much as of late. He’d been missing Dean his entire time at Stanford to be honest, but it’d been even worse lately. Since Troy’s teasing had gotten worse, and particularly since he’d had a nightmare a few days ago of a hunt him and Dean had been on when they were kids. One where Dean had almost died.

He’d shot his brother a couple texts, but no more than usual. Nothing to make Dean think anything was wrong.

Sam dropped his bag onto the couch and then sat down on the mattress. He wasn’t out of breath or in distress, his tears just felt like cold rain against his face. But then he pulled out his phone, dialed Dean’s number, and his brother’s voice echoed through his head.

_“Hey, how’s it going, college boy?”_

“Dean, I —“ His brother’s voice put a lump in Sam’s throat.

_“Sam? Sammy, what’s wrong?”_ Dean immediately knew something was up. The care in his voice was obvious and Sam realized then just much he had missed his brother and the story just poured out.

How he was out of school, how he was always dealing with the constant teasing, how his nightmares had been worse as of late.

Dean listened to every word.

“—and I just don’t know what to do now and I miss you and everything just seems to be falling apart,” Sam finished heavily after about twenty minutes of non-stop talking.

_“I’ll be there tonight,”_ said Dean when Sam was finished.

“I — what?” Sam asked, taken aback. “But aren’t you — aren’t you on a hunt or something?”

_“Yeah, I am. Near Tucson but all I gotta do is burn a body and I’m done. I’ll be there, okay?”_

“Is Dad with you?”

_“No, he went off on some big werewolf thing in Missouri with Bobby and Pastor Jim a couple days ago. Said he’d probably be at least a week or two.”_

“And you didn’t go with him?”

_“He asked me too. But I didn’t want to.”_

“Wait,” Sam said, cracking a smile. “Dean Winchester didn’t want to go on a werewolf hunt?”

Dean sighed. _“No, Sam, I didn’t.”_

“But you love hunting wolfs.”

_“Yeah, well, if you must know, Sam,”_ Dean began, _“I haven’t been straying to far off the coast ‘cause… just ‘cause.”_

Sam understood immediately. Dean had been staying within driving distance of Stanford. For _him_.

Sam was touched more than he could say. “Oh,” he said simply. It was an affectionate ‘oh’ though, and he could sense Dean smirking on the other side of the line.

_“I’ll be there in a few hours,”_ Dean said. _“I’ll make them give you your scholarship back.”_

“Dean…” Sam began. “I mean… how?”

_“Well, I’m not sure yet, but I can figure it out,”_ Dean said. _“I’m gonna at that sort of thing, you know?”_

Sam huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, okay. See you in a bit.”

_“See you,”_ Dean replied. He hung up, and Sam put the phone down.

He didn’t mean for his brother to come, had only really wanted to hear his voice, but he couldn’t help but be excited to see his brother. He’d never gone this long without seeing him. Even when Dean had been like sixteen and lost on a hunt, it had still been less than a couple of months. But he hadn’t seen Dean in almost a year now.

At first it had been nice. Nice to have some independency, some privacy, but as time went by, Sam had found himself missing his brother. That was when he had dived even more into his schoolwork.

Sam didn’t feel like doing anything right now. It wasn’t like there was a point in working on his essays anymore. What else did he have to do?

Sam passed the time waiting for Dean by eating some leftover pizza in his fridge, going out to buy some beer, for Dean of course. Sam had never known a twenty-five year old to drink so much. He wasn’t an alcoholic, that was sure, but he definitely could’ve been healthier about how much he drank.

At any rate, Sam found things to busy himself with until there was a knock at his front door. He opened it and fell into his brother’s arms, emotions raw and the longing for his big brother, his only comfort for so much of his life, stronger than ever.

* * *

Dean made fairly good time to arrive at Sam’s apartment a little after 11. He knocked on the door and instantly found his arms full of his little brother. He smiled and laughed softly.

“Heya, Sammy,” he said. “Big brother’s here. I’ve gotcha.”

* * *

Sam and Dean were in a room with the Dean of Stanford, Mr. Kent, and the history and law professors, along with Troy. The professors had not been wanting to listen to Dean at first and had only granted the hearing when Dean made the formal request. Now, they were _still_ unwilling to listen but Dean, well, Dean insisted.

“I am not leaving this room ‘till you hear what I have to say and allow my brother to remain here _under_ scholarship.”

Nobody spoke. The three older adults all looked indifferent, although Sam was pretty sure his history professor — a thirty year old blonde woman — was eyeing Dean in _that_ way. Sam rolled his eyes at that.

Dean nodded in approval at the silence following his words. “I’ve taken care of this kid nearly my whole life. Ever since our house burned down and took our mom with it. He’s more my kid than anyone else’s. I have been with him nearly every single day of his life, and I know for a fact that he has never cheated on anything. Not in school, not in life, not in anything. He earns and fights for _everything_. I’ve never seen anybody work as hard as he did for this scholarship. If anybody, _anybody_ , deserves it, it’s my brother.

“And I don’t intend to leave this room until you open your mind to the possibility that my brother isn’t the culprit here, but actually the victim.”

“Victim of what, Mr. Winchester?”

Sam started tuning out what was happening. He didn’t like the fact that his brother was fighting his battles for him. He knew Dean didn’t mind, and to be honest, he was touched, but that didn’t mean that he liked it.

“Okay,” Dean said, slamming his hands down on the table between himself and the three staff members, startling Sam back to focus on what was happening. “You ask for proof? I’ll get you the proof.

“Sammy, c’mon,” Dean said.

Sam hurried to stand, not making eye contact with any of the other people in the room as he passed the until Troy stuck his foot out right in Sam’s way and made him fall with a loud crash.

“Mr. Devon, that was out of line,” Mr. Kent reprimanded.

“Oops,” Troy muttered. “Such a tough guy, aren’t you, little _Sammy_?” Troy teased, making fun of the name Dean, and only Dean, was allowed to call him. “Got to have your big brother come and save you, huh?”

“Mr. Devon, that’s enough,” Mr. Kent said firmly.

Sam pushed himself to his feet just as Dean came back to the doorway. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Dean, let’s just go,” Sam muttered, shoving his brother out of the way and into the hall.

* * *

“You actually wouldn’t be too bad in court, you know that?” Sam mused that evening as him and Dean sat in a small burger joint just off of campus. “You have the making of a good DA.”

“Really?” Dean shot him a cocky smile over his burger and fries. “Well, where do you think you got your smarts anyways, hmm?”

“Mom,” Sam deadpanned.

Dean instantly sobered up, reaching over and stealing a handful of Sam’s fries. “Smart ass,” he muttered.

Sam smirked as he snatched his fries back.

Sam had told him about what had happened earlier, about how Troy had tripped him. He hadn’t wanted to at first, but Dean had seen the bruise on Sam’s chin where he’d fallen, and Sam knew his brother would see right through any lies he told him.

Dean had swore a profuse amount, but he said he had a plan.

“And what is that?” Sam had asked.

“Tomorrow, I’m gonna have a little talk with Troy, and we’re gonna settle this like nice, civilized people. Now, I’m starving, let’s go get some dinner.”

Sam very much doubted his brother would “settle this” like a nice, civilized person, but here they were.

* * *

Troy showed up in Mr. Kent’s office the next morning with a bloody lip, bruised eye, and other scattered bruises across his body. The day after that, Sam was back in class and Troy was… not.

Sam didn’t know where he was. Didn’t ask either.

Dean hung around for a few days after Sam was clear to return to school. Sam didn’t mind. It felt a little like old times. Going to school, doing some studying, and then spending the rest of the day hanging out with his brother.

One day, almost two weeks after Dean had first arrived, his brother got a call from their dad about a hunt near Salem. Dean seemed a little reluctant to leave, but Sam insisted that it was alright for him to take the hunt if he wanted to.

“I’ll stay nearby, alright?” Dean said as Sam walked him out of the apartment. “Can’t have my little brother wandering all over the coast alone.”

Sam smirked. “I’ll be alright, Dean.”

“Hey, I mean it,” Dean said after a moment. “I’m always within a day or two’s driving distance, so don’t hesitate to let me know if you need something or — or just want to catch up, okay?”

Sam nodded, not surprised to feel moisture pricking his eyes as he watched Dean throw his bags into the backseat of his beloved Impala.

Sam ran his hands along the hood reminiscently. He had to admit, he’d missed the car as well. It had been his and Dean’s only home all throughout their childhood, apart from each other of course.

Dean turned to him one last time. They were never real great with goodbyes. Not that they’d ever said many before. Their last one, when Sam had stormed off after the fight with their dad, that had been the last time Sam had seen Dean in person before two weeks ago. And though they’d texted and called, and Sam had apologized, — Dean always shrugging them off — this would be their first in-person goodbye since that night.

“C’mere,” Dean muttered. He pulled Sam into a hug. Sam had to bend his knees a little bit, but his lanky form still fell in place with his brother’s, making them fit together in a way that only they could understand. A way that only brothers who’d seen and witnessed so much pain and horror and death in their young lives could understand.

“You know,” Dean began, and Sam was startled by how thick and heavy his brother’s normally light voice sounded, “I know I seemed mad when you came to school, but I want you to know, Sam… I was always proud of you.”

Sam blinked, his chin still resting on his brother’s shoulder and his eyes damp. “I know,” he whispered. “Thanks.” A pause. Another second. “For everything.”

Dean hummed, clearing his throat and patting Sam’s back once before pulling away and climbing into the Impala. “Take care of yourself, bitch.”

“You too,” Sam said, ignoring the few drops of moisture resting on his face. “Jerk.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hits different after the finale. What am I saying tho, everything does


End file.
